


Almaty's Fire

by onotherflights



Series: Almaty's Fire [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Punk, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Found Family, Implied/Referenced Abortion, M/M, Multi, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 21:49:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 94,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10052816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onotherflights/pseuds/onotherflights
Summary: They were like the lost boys, and of course Otabek was Peter. Yuri was fine with being Wendy if it meant he got to keep the thimble at the end of everything, when the sirens would be drowned out by the sounds of drums and the blue and red lights would flash something gorgeous against his skin.Or; After meeting his favorite rockstar inLucky Seven, Yuri hits the road with his boyfriend and the rest of the band. While so much around them changes, Yuri stands beside Otabek and all his demons. But how long will the sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll last until the fire becomes an inferno neither of them can escape?{+ Playlist}





	1. Band Mom

**Author's Note:**

> What a whirlwind yesterday! I had really hoped to upload this yesterday on Yuri's actual birthday but i was distracted by a certain person. 
> 
> Anyways, it's finally here, my first chaptered yoi fic! This is heavily inspired by nirvana, especially "drain you", as well as 80's/90's punk and grunge culture in general. I'm having a lot of fun writing this, I can't wait to introduce you to some of the original characters I'm writing. I've already named Beka's brother (the drummer) but I would really like to get you involved so please feel free to leave name suggestions for the rest of the band below and I may use them! 
> 
> This story is unbeta'd, and tbh I've never had a beta but I'm kind of hunting for one to help with this fic and another chaptered fic coming up, or just someone to run ideas by in general lol. So if you're interested in that or just want to say hi, I'm on tumblr under the same username as here. Also please reblog [this ](http://onotherflights.tumblr.com/post/157903831887/almatys-fire) post on tumblr to help others find this if you enjoy it.
> 
> Alright, my part is over. I hope you enjoy the punk au that's been living in my blog tags, until now ;)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So you're, like, the band mom?”
> 
> Yuri laughed cynically, a bobby pin between his teeth. He was securing one of his buns to the top left side of his head, and he was rushing. This girl, Brandy or Brodie or whatever the fuck her name was, was annoying the piss out of him. He should have just used the dressing room backstage, not the one out in the venue next to the bar.
> 
> “Not exactly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has been so incredibly supportive with this series, and everyone who continues to read it for the first time! ♥   
> * Some awesome posts for this series:  
> \- [Beautiful Yura Fanart by creemsicaal](https://creemsicaal.tumblr.com/post/162169855459/so-youre-like-the-band-mom-if-he-was-a-band)  
> \- [AF: The Music by me ](http://onotherflights.tumblr.com/post/162196354502/almatys-fire-series-by-onotherflights-the)

 

Yuri was high the first time they fucked.

Sometimes he wished he wasn't, but then he remembers that Otabek was pretty off of it too, so maybe it wouldn't have mattered.

On this particular time, when they're naked and sprawled out across the perimeter that the futon allows, they're getting high afterwards.

It's Yuri's turn, and he indulges in watching the smoke twirl in the hazy air. He can't keep his eyes fully open and his bottom lip has a crack in the center from the cold outside. Otabek had licked it when it bled after he screamed. He wonders if he could still taste it on his tongue.

“I don't want the boys to hear you, Yura.”

He thinks it's a bit late for that. He's already used to the walk of unshame, coming out of Otabek's room in nothing but a black T-shirt that hit his thighs and knee socks. He'd jump up on the counter and stuff a poptart in his mouth and one of the boys would pass by, look Yuri over, and shake their heads fondly before asking if Otabek was decent. It was kind of pointless to ask, because the man was always naked regardless.

Yuri turned over onto his tummy, letting the joint nestle between Otabek's waiting lips. He didn't watch him take a drag, favoring to resume his previous work of leaving a bruise over the tiger tattoo on Beka’s chest.

“Why not?” He murmured with skin between his teeth, not committed to getting an answer.

Otabek gave it to him anyway. “I don't want them to think about you like that.”

He licked over the tiger’s paw that curled around Otabek's nipple lazily. “How do you know they're not thinking about you like that? Everyone wants to bang the lead singer, right?”

Otabek chuckled. “Not my boys, they're fuckers.”

Yuri lifts his head and grabs Otabek's face in his hand, chipped red nails digging into his cheek. “Oh yeah, and what are you then? You're a fucker too.”

He smirks something wicked, so much that the joint almost rolls away from him. With his other hand, Yuri holds the spliff so he can take another drag. It's the last good one, and Yuri takes it from him, quickly stubbing it out as he leans in to shotgun the hit. As soon as the smoke clears he's kissing him, wet and lewd. He spreads his legs and Otabek crawls over him, looming over his body.

“Say it again.” He mutters, and Yuri curves his lips smugly. Otabek traces his cheek, along the bone jutting out the middle of it. There's a thin pink scrape on the left side, and he wonders for a moment what they were doing when it got there. There was really no way of knowing.

“You're a fucker.” Yuri says the words like they taste good, moaning slightly as Otabek rolls his hips down and grinds against his pale thigh.

Otabek swoops in and captures Yuri's neck, biting him hard until Yuri is gasping and clutching to his back.

“Only for you, baby doll.” He adds roughly, and this time when he fucks back into Yuri he doesn't care if his boys hear.

 

Yuri was a good buffer when they hit pot holes. He laid down in the van facing Otabek's guitar case, and sometimes he wrapped his arms around the neck as he fell asleep. After years of touring, he's used to sleeping on a tiny twin mattress shoved into the back of Serik’s trash wagon. He'd been hit in the face by a runaway drum kit a few times, he could handle it.

When it wasn't Otabek's turn to drive, he would sneak into the back and carefully turn Yuri over, only waking him for a brief moment to cuddle into the familiar curve of his chest. He'd tuck his chin over the gentle shape of Yuri's skull, his hands buried in soft blonde hair. They would sleep that way, cramped together between equipment. If they were lucky, they could sleep that way until they got into the next city. Most of the time, though, Serik was a dick and used his baby brother privileges to kick them off the bed so he could sleep for a few. Yuri once teased that they didn't need Serik and that he had learned all the drum solos by ear and could easily take his place. Serik’s brown eyes had widened and he looked at his older brother in sheer panic, really thinking he was about to be kicked out of his own band for his brother’s boyfriend.

Otabek let him believe it for two whole days before he let him off the hook. They knocked around a little bit because of it, but fell to the ground in drunken laughter in the end. If they weren't brothers by blood, Yuri would have said they were still brothers, if only by spirit.

  
  


“So you're, like, the band mom?”

Yuri laughed cynically, a bobby pin between his teeth. He was securing one of his buns to the top left side of his head, and he was rushing. This girl, Brandy or Brodie or whatever the _fuck_ her name was, was annoying the piss out of him. He should have just used the dressing room backstage, not the one out in the venue next to the bar.

“Not exactly.”

If he was a band mom, he would probably have sewn patches on the boys’ jeans instead of helping rip them at the knees. He would replace buttons on coats, not help load pipes. He wouldn't be fucking the lead singer, either.

The truth was, he wasn't just a separate entity from the band. He traveled with them everywhere they went, and he did everything they did, even the illegal or morally questionable things. They lived fast, and Yuri was always along for the ride if it meant he could stay by Otabek's side. He and Otabek had been in sync from day one, never one in front of the other. Always side by side. Yuri loved him more than he had ever loved another human being.  
  
Of course, Yuri loved the rest of the boys in the band, too.  
  
They were like the lost boys, and of course Otabek was Peter. Yuri was fine with being Wendy if it meant he got to keep the thimble at the end of everything, when the sirens would be drowned out by the sounds of drums and the blue and red lights would flash something gorgeous against his skin. It had always been unspoken but absolute, if everything went to shit, they would go down together.

Yuri secured his bun with the bobby pin and stood back to look at himself.

His _Almaty's fire_ shirt was tied on one side, the sleeves ripped off. The logo was pretty cheesy, to go along with the band’s shit name (Serik had won the drinking bet). Flames of yellow and orange licked and curled around the letters, a bright contrast against the black background of the shirt.

Having it tied up meant that his hip bones were exposed, a soft line of pale skin before the top of his skirt began. He smoothed his hands over the pleats, and turned in the mirror to make sure his fishnets were only ripped in the right places. It was his first night wearing his new velvet platform creepers, and he was lucky no one had spilled beer on them yet. His emerald eyes flit back up to his face, to check his hair and makeup. The two space buns he'd fixed on each side of his head looked symmetrical enough, but even with all the pins he'd carefully placed he didn't have hopes they would make it to the end of the night.

His eyeliner was jet black, pointed cat eyes sharper than a razor. The highlight along his cheekbones shimmered when he turned his face. His lips were kiss bitten and painted the color of merlot.

 _You're so cool, Yura_.

He could hear Otabek's voice in his head, and he felt the pull. It was showtime.

He threw his makeup back into the bag and took the leather jacket from the edge of the counter, throwing it over one shoulder.

“Enjoy the set.” He called back as he walked past the girl, who stared at him in wonder.

Everyone who had paid to see the band that night knew the band’s name, maybe even all of the lyrics to one or two of the songs. Yuri would get to watch people sing those lyrics, watch their lips move around the words coming from Otabek’s lips in his deep voice.

_Wrapped hand around your pale thigh_

_As I wander your body_

_Dripping in milk and high_

_Let me taste your mind_

Yeah, it was easy enough for people the follow those lyrics. However, not one person out there knew what Otabek was really singing about. 

  
No one knew all the songs were about him.


	2. After the Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You want me again, Beka?” He purred softly, words low and right in Otabek’s ear. “Are you going to take me right here, with people watching?” 
> 
> Otabek smirked, pulling away from the bruise he was leaving on Yuri's neck to meet his eyes. 
> 
> “You would enjoy that too much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been a hot second. I always feel like time passes so slow until I check my last update date and I realize I've been lying to myself. 
> 
> It's finally here though, hope the length makes up for the wait. I'm excited to continue this story, please let me know of any suggestions you have for future chapters!

They were still in America a few weeks later, and it was so dreadfully hot that Yuri didn't even want to leave the comfort of the air-conditioned van to take a piss on the side of the road. Otabek told him he should probably wear less leather if he was so uncomfortable, but that backfired when Yuri started walking around their motel room naked. It wasn't such a huge problem, though, because it brought Otabek's willpower to resist him down to zero.

Yuri couldn't imagine a life where he wasn't on tour with the boys. It meant that every morning, whether in the van or a cheap motel room, they got to wake up together. As long as he had Otabek, it didn't matter where they were.

On Wednesday, they were in Chicago. The next night, they would be in Detroit.

Backstage at that night’s venue, Yuri sat on an amp even though Jarrod had yelled at him not to.

“Shut your fucking face or I'll cut the strings.” Yuri spit back, concentrating on tuning the instrument in his hand, Jarrod’s bass to be exact. Yuri could yell at him that it had been three years and he still didn't know how to warm up his own bass, but he didn't feel like it that night.

Jarrod rolled his eyes and slumped down to rest his back and his head against the amp, sitting on the floor between Yuri's legs. His hair was dyed bright pink and slicked up towards the front, like spikes warning others to stay away when in reality, Jarrod was the softest guy that Yuri knew.

“I don't think Holly really loves me.” He muttered, picking at a thread that connected one side of the hole in the knee of his skinny jeans to the other.

Yuri rolled his eyes, turning the E peg counterclockwise and then testing the line. Holly was Jarrod’s perpetual girlfriend or ex-girlfriend, depending on the season. It was summer and Jarrod’s sign was a rising moon or some shit like that, so they were probably on the edge of breaking up again.

“That's bullshit, Jar.” Yuri said softly, because that was what he always said. And Yuri would let him cry and take the last slice of pizza when it inevitably happened again.

Jarrod nodded and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I'm going to call her.”

Yuri bit his lip and refrained from saying what a god-awful idea that was. The truth is that despite their merry-go-round of a relationship, Yuri really likes Holly. She's fun to have on the road, someone that Yuri can talk to when being “one of the boys” gets too boring and he wants to put on a tight skirt and go out without any of the boys in the band, even Beka.

Sometimes, It was hard on Yuri. He didn't know where he fit into this world. When he was younger, he only hung out with girls. They were always fun, blowing bubbles with their gum and flirting with the boys at the show. It wasn't until Yuri started to dress the way he wanted to, when he stopped giving a fuck about what people thought, that he felt like he belonged.

They were glorified groupies, back in the day. He was only sixteen when the drummer of his favorite band let Yuri suck him off in the bathroom after a set, and at that point it was the best night of his life. Compared to that hot July night though, the night he met Otabek, he couldn't even remember the drummer’s name or what he tasted like. These days, Yuri had new addictions.

As if summoned by sheer force, the Altin brothers walked in from the green room and Otabek went over to Yuri while Serik went over to talk to one of the stage crew.

Otabek helped Jarrod up from the floor, listening to him recount the current Holly situation and giving him as much of a pep talk as he could give, simply saying, “Well what are you waiting for, stop fucking around and get her on the next bus here.”

His eyes roamed from Jarrod, trying to pay attention to his ramblings, and back to Yuri. He was checking him out from the corner of his eye, going over his hair (teased in the front and up in a high ponytail) to his outfit (distressed jeans with holes in the knees, revealing the fishnets he wore underneath, and a tiny white crop top with a picture of a devil with angel wings on it). Yuri didn't move or stop what he was doing, just returned his hungry glances.

Finally, Otabek gently took the bass from Yuri’s hands and gave it to Jarrod.

“Call Holly and be onstage in twenty.”

With that, Jarrod took his hint to leave. He shot Yuri a knowing grin and a thumbs up with his free hand.

“You give terrible pep talks.” Yuri commented as Otabek leaned in to trap him between where he sat on the amp box and the wall. Now that he was closer, Yuri could appreciate the view. His black hair was slicked back, the gel preventing Yuri from burying his fingers into it like he wanted to. He settled for being able to touch Otabek's arms, muscular and tanned and wrapping around him like a snake.

“I know,” Otabek chuckled as he brushed Yuri's hair back and tucked it behind his ears. “My mouth’s only good when it's pleasing you.”

Yuri tilted his head back, presenting himself to Otabek with parted lips. As soon as he felt familiar lips against his, he moaned softly, scooting forward to wrap his legs around Otabek's hips and keep him there. He could taste wine on Otabek's tongue, mixed with his own cherry-flavored lip gloss. Yuri let his hands roam as they kissed, one gravitating to the soft buzz of Otabek’s undercut and the other slipping under his shirt to trace over the lightly defined lines of his abs.

Otabek was right, his mouth was only good when he was pleasing Yuri. He'd been pleasing Yuri all morning, in fact.

That's why when he could feel a hand slipping underneath the waist of his jeans, Yuri was just a little surprised. He bit down on Otabek's bottom lip at the feeling of his hand gripping his ass through his fishnets. Otabek moved quickly to kiss his neck, Yuri hazily opening his eyes and looking around. No one cared to watch the two of them, too busy prepping for the show. And with Serik out of the room, Yuri felt comfortable slipping his words into familiar Russian so that he could talk dirty to Otabek inconspicuously.

“You want me again, Beka?” He purred softly, words low and right in Otabek’s ear. “Are you going to take me right here, with people watching?”

Otabek smirked, pulling away from the bruise he was leaving on Yuri's neck to meet his eyes.

“You would enjoy that too much.”

“Hmmph.” Yuri huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, half in offense and half knowing it was completely true.

Otabek chuckled, kissing both of Yuri’s cheeks. “After the show, for sure.”

Taking the compromise, Yuri escaped Otabek’s arms and hopped off the side of the amp, pulling his fishnets up higher on his waist and strutting away, imagining amber eyes following him. He liked to leave him hanging, leave him ready for the next time he got to put his filthy mouth to good use.

 

  
There was someone sitting at the bar, and his hair was blocking the view of Yuri’s favorite whiskey, and he knew exactly which asshole it was, too.

“Hi, Georgi Porgie.” Yuri sing-songed in greeting, sliding onto the barstool next to the older man with a annoyingly over-styled quiff. He was wearing a suit jacket and slacks in a dive bar, for fuck’s sake.

Explaining how Georgi Popovich had become the band’s manager was about as complicated as explaining what the man’s current relationship status was. He managed about as many bands as women he had in his bed at any given time, and Yuri would use the term “manage” loosely. Still, he proved to be useful at times, with tedious things like scheduling and booking gigs. He was one of those “you boys focus on making great music, I'll handle the rest” types, typical. Only, Yuri was pretty sure he didn't listen to the music Otabek’s band played and certainly wouldn't call it great. That was one reason he was surprised to see him at the venue.

“What are you doing here?” He asked aloud before the quiff man could reply to his greeting, which he probably despised Yuri for.

Georgi didn't answer, just tilted the rim of his drink towards a woman standing nearby in the crowd. She had long brown hair flowing down her back, denim mini skirt hugging tight to her hips. She was smiling at whoever she was talking to, and she wasn't wearing any eye makeup. She looked young, far too young for this club. Yuri took one look at her, and then glared back at Georgi.

“When she gets back tell her I'll take three boxes of thin mints.”

Georgi downed the rest of his G&T, simultaneously flipping Yuri off with his free hand.

“I'm here for business as well, if you must know. I was going to talk about it with the boys after the show. See how all these people are lingering around the venue?” He waved vaguely in the direction of the space in front of the stage, where the crowd was building, lingering around the venue but keeping condensed towards the stage, ready for the show.

“It's five minutes to the show and there's no buzz, no energy for the band to come out with.”

Yuri can agree with that, but it's only because they're in a tiny venue and there's just a dull buzz of chatter. The neon signs have just been lit, the eyeliner is still unsmudged. It's the beginning of the night. In two hours, all of it will be covered in sticky alcohol and sweat and maybe even a little blood, depending on how the show goes.

“What the boys need is an opening act.”

It's surprising, but Yuri can actually agree with Georgi on his take. Maybe it would be a good thing, to have new people on the road with them. It would keep things interesting at the very least.

“Alright, so why are you telling me this and not Otabek?” Yuri inquires, chipped nails toying with the rips of his jeans.

He scoffs. “You know Otabek doesn’t listen to anything I tell him.”

The shot Georgi ordered is set in front of him. He looks at Yuri. “You, on the other hand.”

“Ah, okay. So it has to be my idea.” Yuri realizes with a roll of his eyes. “Fine, I’ll suggest it tonight and he’ll report back to you. Fair enough?”  
The lights are flashing, alerting the crowd it’s showtime. People start cheering, packing closer to the front of the stage. When Georgi turns to look for his girl, Yuri takes his shot and downs it. He notices when he looks back and frowns, but Yuri just grins wickedly.

“Deal. Now get your ass to the front row.” Georgi laughs easily. Yuri smiles his prettiest smile and kisses his cheek, smirking as he yells over his shoulder. “Enjoy the show, Georgi Porgie!”

A rip of a bassline tears through the crowd, and Jarrod is on stage right, one foot up on an amp and his hair looking neon under the lights. Serik is at the drums, already shirtless. Otabek is center stage, standing away from his mic, looking down and strumming his guitar, the opening chords of their first song. His eyes wander, scanning the front row. With the lights, it’s the only row he can see. When his eyes latch on to Yuri, the change is visible on his face. It’s subtle, not seen past row five, but Yuri sees it clear as day. He smiles back. Otabek steps forward, and the venue fills with the sound of his voice. Yuri closes his eyes for a moment, and lets it envelop him. All he can hear is Otabek, and the crowd around him.

The show goes how the shows always go, like good sex. It starts slow, warming you up like a glass of wine. Somewhere around the middle, there’s a shot of coke, and all at once it’s a blur of screaming and sweat and the feeling of a kick drum played along your spine. Yuri is dancing, hands up over his head, as everyone is. Bodies are pressing against him, sticky with sweat, itching to get closer to Otabek. His shirt is gone too, his jeans hanging loose on his hips. Yuri can only see half of him, currently, because he’s on his knees and bent back as he sings into the mic. When he pops back up, the eyeliner that had been so perfectly lining his eyes is smudged, but it only makes him look better. It’s the kind of look Yuri could never pull off, and he wants to fuck the shit out of him for it. Then Otabek is holding the mic with one hand, using the other to crawl forward on the stage. He’s slinking forward like a cat, singing about Yuri wearing his favorite black teddy and white knee socks. Of course, no one knows that. But he’s looking right at Yuri.

Yeah, Yuri is definitely going to suck him off as soon as he gets offstage.

Apparently, a girl standing somewhere behind him has the same idea.

“Fuck, he can come down my throat!” She’s screaming, and there’s no way Otabek could possibly hear her lewd comment. Yuri hears it though, and he imagines it’s what Uma Thurman felt in Kill Bill when the Ironside siren sounds started and everything went red.

Yuri slowly turns his head, assessing the girl’s features. She seems typical. Bleached blonde hair, big tits. She’s wearing the same type of fish nets he is. In a world where Otabek was into people without dicks, this girl would be competition. From his own groupie days, Yuri was no stranger to it. It didn’t bother him before, when he was competing with ten girls to fuck the drummer. But this was Otabek Altin. Otabek was his and his only. And the thing is, she doesn’t stop at that.  
“I want to bang the guitarist!” She yells to her friend, who laughs and nods enthusiastically.

When Yuri looks back, Otabek is still up there, being a sex god as usual. It’s no wonder he gets these girls wet, he knows what he’s doing. It isn’t the first time he’s heard someone talk about Otabek like that, it wasn’t a surprise. But he’d seen those girls before, and he didn’t just think that was paranoid jealousy talking. If these were new groupies, then they needed to know that Otabek was strictly off limits.

Yuri was able to ignore their comments for the rest of the set, but the moment the boys were heading off Yuri pushed through the crowd to get backstage. He was the Bride on a mission.

He found Otabek with his guard off, back turned and running a towel over his sweat- soaked hair. Adrenaline racing, and with the crowd still cheering, Yuri pounced on him.

“Angel, there you are.” Otabek huffed a laugh, his voice softer than it had been. He would be resting it, preserving it until the next show. It also gave him an excuse to not talk to people. But Yuri wasn't a normal person, Yuri was his angel, and he always had time to talk.

That's not what Yuri wanted in the moment though, and he made it very clear by putting his tongue in Otabek’s mouth as soon as possible. It only took a moment of shock before callous hands were raking down his sides, gripping his hips and bringing them closer to his own until they were flush together. Yuri rocked forward, rutting against him between layers of clothes. Otabek was usually already hard by the time he got offstage, so it was no surprise that Yuri could feel him, and Otabek groaned against his tongue as he pushed Yuri’s back against the wall.

It would have been lovely to get off just like that, dirty and quick and just behind the curtain. The time clock in Yuri’s head was buzzing though, and he remembered his mission. He gave Otabek one last lingering kiss, pulling away with heavy breath. He kept eye contact, both of their eyes ebony-lined. Otabek had that look in his brown eyes, like he wanted more and he was displeased Yuri had pulled away. He was probably going along the lines of another kiss, but Yuri had other plans. He drops to his knees with practiced ease, and Otabek’s eyes follow him in half-surprise. When he had said “after the show” he had been meaning they would get a motel room, but this was fine too. Otabek wasn't going to stop him, just looked around to make sure no one too familiar was creeping around.

Yuri quickly worked the front of Otabek’s ripped black jeans open, just enough to get his dick out and wrap his lips around the head, doe eyes looking up through thick mascara-coated lashes.

“Fuck, baby.” Otabek whispers hoarsely under his breath, like an afterthought. He looks over his shoulder once more, and Yuri uses it to his advantage to take all of Otabek that he can into his mouth, cheeks pulled in. Yuri doesn't focus so much on what he's doing, because he’ll get too in his head about being perfect if he does. Instead, he looks up at Otabek the whole time, watching his every reaction. If he moves a certain way and it results in a lip bite, he’ll repeat it, and better, until he’s driving Otabek crazy. It's as if it's all a competition with himself, _what can I do to make him lose his mind?_

Yuri knows he's winning when he feels a fist gripping tight around the ponytail that sits at the top of his head. He's not pulling, Yuri had taught him better than to mess up his hair before the night was over, but he's holding onto it like an anchor.

Slowly, so that he won't notice the shift all at once, Yuri slows his movements until his head is still, Otabek looking down at him expectantly. Batting his eyelashes, nails of chipped black paint dig into Otabek’s hips and push him forward.

A quick string of curses- _fuckfuckfuck_ \- and the word “baby” dripping in adoration slide from between Otabek’s teeth as he leans forward, a palm flat against the wall to steady him and keep him standing. He rolls his hips first, testing the movement to ensure no discomfort flashes in Yuri’s eyes.

 _Stop being so gentle with me, dammit._ Yuri thinks to himself, pushing Otabek’s hips closer again with determination. He finally gets the message and lets go, canting his hips forward with reckless abandon. He's gripping Yuri’s hair in his hand, looking down at him like this is the hottest thing he’s ever had done to him. He's looking down at Yuri like he's going to write a song about this.

Yuri is looking up at him like it's so easy to take the brutal pace he's practically forced Otabek to go at, but there are tears stinging in the corners of his eyes, threatening to mix with eyeliner and create a real mess if this doesn't hurry along.

Thankfully, Yuri knows what he's doing.

He lets Otabek fuck his face in the only way that's ever truly good, like he hates him. He doesn't, of course, but that won't show until the afterglow.

Yuri watches as life around the two of them keeps on moving. Through the peek of the curtain, Yuri can see people lingering in the club, not ready to let go of the end of the night. Some of them will drink until closing time, downing their whiskey as they're pushed out the door. Some will spill into the streets, heading to the next venue, the next jungle of sweaty bodies and bass lines to fill the void.

In a weird way, maybe they're the lucky ones. Yuri knows where he's going to be for the rest of the night, and it's going to be the same sweaty body on top of him when the sun rises. He doesn't have to wander past the alleys anymore, giggling and tripping over his own platform heels along cobblestone paths. He doesn't have to meet skeezeball guys in the park and tape his stash to the underside of his sock drawer. He has his own personal supply these days, and currently has the heavy weight of it on the flat of his tongue.

Otabek groans and it stirs him from his thoughts, and reminds him of the stopwatch that’s ticking in his head. He has to speed things up before the groupies move on.

Yuri looks up again with his best look, and it's a good sign when Otabek shuts his eyes, his jaw slack.

 _Come on, just a little more,_ Yuri is mentally cheerleading himself, and he moans something filthy, slick spit dribbling down his chin.

_Coat my tongue, feed me. Give it to me so I can show those bitches._

He's got to stop thinking that way, or he’ll be just as affected, blood boiling all the same as it rushes south. It takes a few more well-intended but sloppy thrusts and Otabek is releasing on Yuri’s waiting pink tongue, his flushed face looking far too innocent for what he's just done, what he's about to do.

His eyelashes are fluttering at the feeling, the heat filling his chest, carefully pulling his mouth away and resisting the automated urge to swallow as he wipes his chin off. He doesn't know why, but his fingertips are shaking as Otabek pulls him to his feet. He breathes harshly through his nose as Otabek kisses his neck and his face and showers him with the types of praises that make him want to get down on the backstage floor all over again.

He gives him a quick kiss and promises to return the favor when they get to the motel, and then he's leading Yuri towards the glowing red exit sign. Adrenaline is still coursing through him, maybe that explains the shaky hands, or maybe it's because they're itching to get Otabek’s pants down again as soon as possible.

Somewhere in the blur of neck kisses and zippers going back up and a hushed c’mon, Yura, let’s get out of here, Otabek finds his jacket where he’d stashed it before the show. He slips it onto Yuri’s shoulders, and the trembling of his fingertips stops. He loses himself and pulls Otabek in for a kiss while leaning against the door, and they stumble into the back parking lot with smirks and flushed cheeks, the cold night air hitting them with wet humidity.

For a moment, Yuri is still dazed. He can't take his eyes off of Otabek. For a moment, it's impossible to imagine that the songs are all about him, when someone so indescribably gorgeous is standing in front of him. Yuri wants to write soliloquies about Otabek’s skin, about the tiger tattoo on his chest, about his eyes lined with kohl and his hair disheveled after the show, after having him after the show.

Then he hears a shrill voice and looks over his shoulder to see a now familiar pair talking to Serik, and he blinks red.

As he breaks from Otabek’s arms, leaving him confused but slightly intrigued, he knows what he's about to do is crazy. He knows this, and yet he has no intention of calming down or chilling or any bullshit like that. The thing was, Yuri had no problems with groupies. Takes one to spot one at the first sight of fishnets, and Yuri had mad respect for most of them. He understood, really he did. On the flip side, he also understood what it was like to try and keep someone with an addictive personality addicted to only one brand of fishnet-wielding blonde. If this were the animal world, Yuri would just piss on Otabek and mark his territory. In groupie world, this was a close second.

Yuri approached the two girls where they were standing by the van, the shy friend attempting to talk to Serik while the blonde was eyeing Otabek up and down shamelessly across the lot. When she saw Yuri walk up to her, she only had a moment to make a puzzled expression before Yuri was pulling her in by her waist and kissing her full on her peach-glossed lips.

To his surprise, she kissed back easily, and allowed his tongue to slip past just as simply. He kissed her in a way too wet to look or feel good, pushing his tongue against hers with too much excitement. He couldn't contain his smugness, even with Serik cussing a confused storm in the background.

“ _аға_ , your boyfriend's finally fucking lost it.” He accused around a laugh of disbelief, just around the time groupie #1 realized what the taste in her mouth was.

She pushed at Yuri’s shoulders until he released her and she squealed, actually fucking squealed, the headache-inducing sound of it filling the parking lot. She sputtered and spit, immediately joining in with the cursing, only she wasn't laughing.

“What the fuck?! You fucking freak!” She screamed, her friend’s eyes widening and her lip going between her teeth, biting back a snicker.

“What's wrong, kitten?” Yuri grinned devilishly, wiping the corner of his mouth and sucking his thumb before releasing it from his lips with a pop. “You were almost begging for it earlier.”

Otabek had crossed the lot by then, and his arms came from behind to wrap around Yuri’s waist.

“You're fucking crazy, baby.” He murmured, enough for the group to hear. Then he leaned in closer, a rough whisper against the shell of his ear, just for him. “I'm going to fuck you into the floor when I get you alone.”

Yuri reaches behind him and gropes where Otabek’s still sensitive, and he buries his agonized groan in Yuri’s shoulder, biting into the leather of his own jacket, muttering the words “death of me” like they’re a part of a prayer.

For his part, Serik is watching this exchange with fascination and yet still utterly confused. It's okay, Otabek will explain it to him later.

Yuri faces Groupie #1 and looks her straight in the eye when he talks to her. “Feel free to come to the shows, these dopes need all the help they can get. But eyes and sexual comments off this one, He's spoken for. Do I need to make it any clearer?”

“Fine, whatever.” The girl replies in disgust, pulling her best friend, apparently named Tara, by the arm and informing her it's time to go.

Tara looks between her friend and Serik, momentarily torn.

“He's underage.” Otabek deadpans, and Tara flees.

“Fucking dick.” Serik mutters bitterly, ducking when Otabek reaches out to cuff the side of his head as he passes the couple on the way to the van.

He turns Yuri around in his arms, kissing him, drinking him in again.

“What tastes like peach?” He teases, and Yuri nips his bottom lip.

The sound of Jarrod’s penny board whizzes past their feet, and its owner follows behind it like he's chasing a dog.

“Guys, get in the van, we gotta be out in ten.” He reminds them, unbothered by whatever events had just unfolded. Jarrod is a simple man; he just wants to dye his hair and sleep with his girlfriend, and maybe get the last slice of pizza once in awhile.

Serik is already blasting his favorite Green Day album and pouting in the front seat when Otabek opens the back doors and offers out a hand to Yuri. He takes it, holding on to the side of the van and climbing into the back, crawling towards the mattress.

“You are crazy though, Yura. I meant that.” Otabek adds, a sated lightness to his tone when he spoons behind him as they lay down, arms wrapped around his boyfriend. “To even think I would pick anyone over you.”

Jarrod doesn't ask why Yuri’s smiling when he climbs into the back with them, penny board under his arm and a beanie pushing his pink hair down around his head like a halo.

“Alright, fuckers, we survived another night.” Jarrod announces cheerily as he climbs over into the passenger seat, buckling his seatbelt.

Serik drives away from the club and towards the highway. They've got some miles to cover before they can stop at a Holiday Inn and crash for the night, but Otabek’s already getting a head start where he’s nestled in behind Yuri, breathing soft against his hair. Yuri tiredly pulls the elastic out and runs a hand through the strands, letting them fall loose around his shoulders.

The van is quiet, except for the blaring noise of Billie Joe Armstrong and the dull rattling that always accompanies the van when it's carrying their equipment. Yuri turns over, gently, and cuddles in to Otabek’s chest, and thanks whatever stars are shining beyond the city lights.

He wants to believe Otabek when he says cute things like that. He wants to believe that love is as permanent as the tattoo on Otabek’s chest, the one he drew. He wants to believe that they can go on like this forever, and he will be enough to satisfy someone like Otabek, someone who was born to be free and wild and reckless. Is it possible to hold someone like that in hands so fragile, hands that shake?

Yuri doesn't think about it, at least he's not going to tonight. For tonight, he's falling asleep in spite of speed bumps and potholes, and he's kept warm by a leather jacket over his shoulders and the comforting sound of Otabek’s breathing underneath the sound of a teen angst anthem.

For tonight, there's only one guarantee, and it's this: when he wakes up in a new town, the new day will be even wilder than what had passed.

He would love every beat of it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Breakfast Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serik groaned, pausing his game a final time and tossing the controller onto the bed. “I have to look my brother in the eye, and I'm still traumatized from yesterday. I'm going get a milkshake.” 
> 
> Holly giggled as Serik left, but was quick to arch her brow. “What happened yesterday?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw; recreational drug use applies (cocaine). Oh, and those crazy kids have a lot of sex for one motel room stay but what can you do.

Yuri is watching the water droplets that cling to the glass fall, racing each other down into the tub and to the drain. He can barely keep his eyes open, but he can feel Otabek behind him, holding his leg up and keeping him pressed against the glass of the shower door.

He's exhausted, but he can't help but give a half-hearted moan at the feeling of Otabek’s biting his neck to muffle himself. He’s just come for the third time, and Yuri thinks they're finally done.

When they had reached the motel in the early morning, Yuri had jumped out of the van with so much energy, racing Serik to the vending machines to stock up on junk.

In their room, Yuri had managed to get a mouthful of skittles on his tongue before Otabek pounced on him, pinning him to the bed and making him giggle around fruit-flavored kisses. Otabek had made promises he intended to carry through on, so the few hours of sleep they’d gotten in the back of the van proved valuable. He'd taken his time eating Yuri out first, slow teasing licks allowing him to finish his skittles between moans. They fucked on the bed, then moved to the sink, Yuri’s lipstick smeared on the mirror. Otabek had carried him into the bath afterwards with innocent intentions, but once the water was running and he was washing Yuri’s hair, singing softly as he did, it was Yuri’s turn to initiate their activities. It wasn't hard to be greedy when Otabek was singing his favorite Nirvana song in his ear like that.  

“No, come back.” Yuri whines, genuinely upset when he could feel Otabek’s cock slipping out. He clenches around nothing, and feels the come mixing with water as it runs down his thigh.

Otabek pulls him from the glass door and kisses him sweetly, letting his leg fall carefully from his grip.  

“Let's put you to bed now, love.” He murmurs, and gives Yuri a moment to wash between his legs while he gets the towel. The water stops, and Yuri is wrapped in warm terrycloth, Otabek wearing a matching one around his waist. He helps Yuri out of the bath with two hands, leading him back to the bed like a child being led to a birthday surprise.

Yuri flops down on top of the comforter in his towel, nuzzling his face into the soft corner of it. He's laying on his stomach, watching Otabek move around the room lazily. He returns to the bed, brush in one hand and the other in the pocket of his sweats.  

Otabek sits behind him and carefully combs out Yuri’s hair, twisting it around itself until a bun forms on top of his head. He ties it off, and kisses the nape of Yuri’s neck. He's speaking in broken Russian, but Yuri’s so tired he can barely hear him.

“Only you, Yura. Only ever you.” He whispers, and Yuri can feel hands run down his back, the towel rising up when Otabek pushes it. “Stay still for me, Angel.”

Yuri hears the crinkle of the bag, the powder hitting the small of his back, along his tailbone. Normally he would lift his head, watch Otabek take his hit, but tonight he doesn't have the strength. He just listens to the strong, sudden inhale and the relieved groan that follows it. Otabek licks over his skin, then carefully lays back next to him. Yuri reaches out and brushes his thumb under Otabek’s nose, sticking it in his mouth and pressing it to his gums.  

“You should switch to diet, Beka.” Yuri jokes, and Otabek chuckles and kisses his forehead. Yuri lets himself be forced to sit up a while later, and Otabek helps him slip on a big t-shirt, taking the towel away. He pulls the blankets down and back over Yuri’s body, tucking him in and kissing him once more.  

“I'm staying up to write.” Otabek mentions gently, and Yuri nods with his eyes already closed. He doesn't bother Otabek when he's like this, and it's best to just sleep through it. Yuri knows Otabek will do more coke once he falls asleep, probably smoke it so it hits him faster. Yuri can't say anything to him about it, mostly because he feels it numbing the top of his own mouth. 

Somehow in his post-sex and numbed daze, Yuri remembers the promise he’d made to Georgi earlier that night.

“Hey Beka, you were fucking hot tonight.” He mumbles, feeling Otabek pet his bare thigh with his fingertips. “I'm sorry I got jealous and did that to that girl. I just kind of go a little crazy sometimes when it comes to you.”  

Otabek doesn't say anything, just lays there and admires Yuri.  

“Georgi was at the show tonight.” He continues, fighting sleep. “I wasn't supposed to tell you, you were supposed to think it was all my genius idea, but he wants to sign another band to open for you and the boys. I think it's a good idea.”  

“It is,” Otabek admits, but there's something underlying his usual neutral tone. “I guess we’ll have to start scouting out bands, holding auditions. I'll need to really get to know the people before I let them join us. I'll have to understand them intimately… you know, to see if the music vibes.”

There's a sense of mischief in his voice, one that is usually reserved for Yuri’s unique brand of teasing. Perhaps over the years, it rubbed off.

Yuri glares at Otabek, and if he had any more energy in him he would play fight with him, wrestling around on the bed until they both broke into laughter. Instead, he just mutters “I don't care, you can hold all the auditions you want, and I'll sit on your dick the whole time.”  

He's tired and the roof of his mouth is numb, he sounds absolutely ridiculous. Otabek just laughs and draws invisible patterns into his back, nodding.

“It's a date then.”

They remain that way on the bed and fall quiet, until Otabek is watching Yuri close his eyes. He sings again, the same song he was singing in the shower. His voice is soft and careful, a sharp contrast to his style earlier on stage. He makes it halfway through his stripped down version of Nirvana’s “Drain You” before his energy spikes and he gets up from the bed to get his journal, presumably.

Yuri’s meant to have a spike of energy too, but it doesn't hit him quite like it used to, and certainly not just the small bit he'd had. Yuri usually waited until they were off tour to binge himself, and that was when things got really interesting.

Pushing the memories (or fragments of memories) away, he buries his face into the pillow and falls asleep to the sound of Otabek pacing around the room, mumbling to himself.

 

 

 

 

In the morning, Yuri wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing. He crawls to the end of the bed and picks up his phone from Otabek’s jacket pocket.

It's Serik.  

“Is he still breathing?” He greets, trying and failing to hide his obvious concern, and Yuri rolls his eyes. He looks back to where Otabek is passed out on the right side of their bed, his arms holding a pillow over his head. Yuri crawls back with the phone pushed between his ear and his shoulder, and pulls Otabek’s hand from where it's clutching the fabric. He presses a kiss to the inside of his wrist, counting. Otabek groans and pulls his hand back, burrowing himself further into the comforts of the pillows and turning onto his side, his back to Yuri.  

“Vitals are good, mood is normal.” He answers, and Serik sighs in relief.

“I came in at five to check on him and he was laying at the foot of the bed with his head hanging upside down.”

Yuri kissed his shoulder and leaned over him, leafing through the chicken scratch writing he'd penned into his journal. On the last page he'd been working on, the ink scrambled together and then fell off the page. His pen was on the floor, an empty can of beer next to it.

“Is the breakfast club all there?” Yuri asked, creeping out of the bed to get dressed.  

“Yeah, a little blue haired chick came in around seven. She's dying to see you.” Serik said around a grin, and Yuri gasped in excitement as he hopped, pulling his skinny jeans up his legs.

“I'll be there in five, save me some fries.” He sing-songed, and Serik laughed and hung up on him.

Yuri went over to the mirror and pulled out the elastic Otabek had used to tie his hair, watching his blonde waves tumble down to hit below his shoulders. He tousled it until it looked decent and cleansed his face, patting it dry with a towel. Rummaging through their shared suitcase, Yuri found an old Smiths shirt and, sniffing it, deemed it acceptable to slip over his head. He stuffed his feet into beat up chucks and tied them hastily, throwing away the beer can and picking up Otabek’s Journal. He lovingly wrapped the leather strap around the book, tucking it into the bag. He walked back over to the bed, a gentle hand rubbing over Otabek’s naked back. He was out, and he’d be unresponsive and sour for a while, so Yuri would leave him here.

 Locking the door behind him, Yuri squinted in the morning light, head cast down as he walked up the hall and knocked on room 207’s door.

He was greeted by Jarrod, shirtless and smiling like a dope when he opened the door with a blue slurpee in one hand. Yuri didn't miss the series of bruises along his neck that definitely weren't there the night before.

“Beautiful morning, isn't it?” He smiled, moving aside so Yuri could enter the room. There was a pile of McDonald's bags on one of the beds and Serik sat at the foot of it, game controller in his hands and eyes focused on the television. Yuri stepped over a six-pack lying on the floor and reached for a grease-stained bag, sitting cross-legged next to Serik and reaching in greedily to find still-warm fries waiting for him. Jarrod quickly crossed in front of them to get to the bathroom, and Yuri heard a familiar giggle as the door closed softly.

“Fry me.” Serik demanded distractedly, and Yuri stuck two fries between waiting lips, Serik chomping them into his mouth happily.  

Serik looked quite a bit like Otabek did when he was younger, from what Yuri had seen in pictures. At seventeen, he was lanky and tall, not quite filling his bones in yet. He only had one tattoo, in comparison to Otabek’s lucky seven. It was a pacman chasing little ghosts in an endless loop around his ankle, and his mother hated it when he had shown her proudly on their last trip home.  

He had the same dark skin, the same brown eyes and harsh eyebrows. Unlike his older brother, he'd inherited his dad’s curls, and they looked awful whenever Serik let his hair grow too long. Sometimes he shaved his head completely, and sometimes he would let Otabek give him an undercut so they matched. Regardless, Serik’s hair was unruly and grew back quickly on its own accord. That morning, it was about halfway to haircut time, freshly washed and pushed away from his face.

It was easy to tell which of the two was younger. Serik had a softer, rounder face. Otabek teased him about his chubby cheeks, squeezing them and telling him he'd eaten too many peanuts as a child and now his cheeks were built for storage. He had acne, and refused to live off anything but junk when they were on the road (not than any of the older boys were any better).  

“Did he tell you about his brilliant idea this morning?” He questions, and Yuri shakes his head. Yuri frowns at the way Serik seems to be smug about it, his front teeth biting into a smirk.  

“I know something you don't know.” the younger tunes, and Yuri shoves his shoulder, protesting around a mouthful of food.  

“It doesn't count, you caught him between hits and I was sleeping, jerkoff.”  

Serik pauses his game and steals a handful of fries from the bag in Yuri’s lap out of spite, laughing at the shocked face he earned in reaction. Yuri was just about to interrogate him further and possibly get the information out of him via torture (tickling), when the bathroom door creaked open.  

The smell of French perfume leaked into the room, far too refined for its surroundings. Holly Kennedy walks out with her blue hair wet and clinging to her t-shirt that was clinging to her. She spots Yuri sitting there on the bed, and immediately a smile forms across her face.  

“Holly!” Yuri matches her expression in excitement, and barely has time to open his arms before she's jumping on top of him.

Being around Holly is like a disease. It's impossible to be in her vicinity and not become infected by her happiness, the sheer joy she exudes. She's not one of those annoyingly happy people either, never faking her emotions for the comfort of others. She wasn't wild and prone to bad decisions like Yuri was, but she wasn't boring. She complimented Jarrod’s chill nature, but she wasn't one to be crossed or taken for granted, and could be short-tempered when provoked. When they were younger, before Holly met Jarrod and Yuri met Otabek and they were thick as thieves, Yuri idolized her just a little bit. She was just on the right side of unpredictability, a level of cool Yuri failed to reach.

If Yuri ever had anything close to family, Holly would be his big sister.

“I missed you, pumpkin.” She said, cuddling into Yuri’s side. She looked over her shoulder, poking Serik’s back with her foot. “You too, pork chop.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Serik replied, resuming his game.  

Repositioning themselves to sit upright at the top of the bed, legs folded and knees touching, Yuri and Holly fell into their usual catch-up session over fries and burgers. Jarrod lay on the other bed, stretching out for a mid-morning nap.

Holly filled him in on the details of her and Jarrod’s latest resolution. Apparently she was helping him open his chakras. Yuri had half a mind to tell her that she was crazy if she thought she was going to survive the rest of tour without fighting with him, but he didn't want to rain on her parade. She looked back at him sleeping with such fondness in her eyes, like they had finally figured it all out overnight. The optimism was hard to resist. Holly had lasted three weeks the last round, and then Yuri hadn't seen her for more than a night in over a year. Maybe this time would be different.

“But anyway, how’s Beka? How's the sex?”

Yuri snorts, rolling his eyes. “Of course that's the order of concern.”

“It's an important question.” Holly defends, sipping her lemonade.  

“Please don't answer her, Yuri.” Serik whined.  

“We’ll pictionary it, pork chop.” Holly smirked, and Yuri made an unamused face at her and didn't make a move, but Holly was messing around. Taking her own queues, she gasped, _oooo’_ ing and _ahh’_ ing. Yuri watched in amusement, Serik’s back still turned to them.

“Wait, really?” Holly added, sounding shocked. “I wish Jarrod could go that long.”

Serik groaned, pausing his game a final time and tossing the controller onto the bed. “I have to look my brother in the eye, and I'm still traumatized from yesterday. I'm going get a milkshake.”

Holly giggled as Serik left, but was quick to arch her brow. “What happened yesterday?”

Yuri groaned, flopping down on his stomach so that he could recount the story. When he was done, Holly’s jaw had dropped, and she was equal parts concerned and impressed.

“You really have it bad for this one, don't you pumpkin?”  

Yuri buried his face in his hands, embarrassed. “I know, Hols. I can't help it.”  

Holly’s face softened, and she reached out to run her hair through Yuri’s wavy hair, tucking one side behind his ear tenderly. “I know, I understand it. It’s going to be harder for you though, my dear. Lead singers always put the music first, I did warn you.”

There was a gentle sadness in her tone, and Yuri nodded in understanding. He had known from that first night that being with Otabek meant he was going to have to make choices, and he’d have to make certain sacrifices if he was going to fit into his lifestyle.

As it turned out sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll was highly romanticized, and it wasn’t always sexy. The party always had to end, the uppers always had a crash. And Holly was right, lead singers always tore themselves apart, anything to make the music better. The others, Jarrod and Serik and Holly, they would all exit stage left one day, and go on to lead “normal” lives. Otabek was too in love with the whole of it;  the show. Yuri didn’t think he would ever leave it, not until it killed him.  

They hadn’t done anything too stupid, not yet anyway. But it was only a matter of time before tolerance built, and chasing the high would mean more. Yuri had to ask himself if there was anything he wouldn’t do for Otabek, really consider the possibilities.

He couldn’t name one thing. It scared him that the thought of that didn’t scare him.

The hotel phone rang, shaking Yuri from his thoughts and startling Jarrod awake. Giving him a soft smile, Holly moved from the bed to return to Jarrod, crawling on top of him with teasing eyes. Yuri picked up the phone, saying hello and holding it with his shoulder as he cleaned up the empty bags from the bed.

“Yura, You’re not here.” Otabek was just waking up, his gruff morning voice making Yuri ache. He had half a mind to drop everything and run down the hall. Sighing, he went to throw the bags into the trash.  

“Yeah well, you know how you are after a ski trip.” Yuri quipped, hopping onto the counter and sitting facing the mirror. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m defrosting.” Otabek deadpanned, and Yuri huffed a laugh. If Otabek was hungover, he never made a big show of it. He dealt with it the way he dealt with most things, he wanted to be alone with Yuri. “Come back to me, I have things to show you.”

Yuri looked back to the bed, Where Holly was still laying on top of Jarrod, arms folded over his chest and smiling as they talked. Serik was off somewhere, probably not going to return until it was time to leave for the next show.

“Alright, but you're not fucking me when I get back.”

Yuri could practically hear Otabek smiling. “I can work around that, babe.”

Hanging up the phone and hopping from the counter, Yuri pulled half his hair up, tying it with an elastic.

“Duty calls?” Jarrod remarks from his place in bed, and Yuri flips him off.

Holly gets up to hug him, and Yuri closes the door quietly behind him. The walk back to the room he shares with Otabek is so short, he doesn't have time to think. Yuri liked it that way.

 

 

 

 

“Don't,” Otabek begged desperately, his fist gripping Yuri’s hair. “Don't slow down.”

Yuri smirked and leaned down to speak against Otabek’s ear. “Why shouldn't I?”

“I- I'm close, Yura. Please. I need it.”

Yuri didn't respond, just nipped the shell of his ear to hear him whine. The room smelled like cigarettes and sex, and Yuri was feeling high enough on that without the added sensation of Otabek pushing his hips back insistently, clenching around Yuri’s cock where they were connected.  

Giving in, Yuri dug his nails into the skin of his broad shoulder as his other hand lay flat on the pillow beside Otabek's head. He pushed back against Otabek’s movements, hard. He resumed a quick pace, the lewd sound of skin slapping against skin almost drowned out by the moaning. 

Otabek fell forward from his hands to his elbows when Yuri’s hand wandered down and under past his hip, teasing Otabek where he’d been denying himself the right to touch for the past hour or so.

It didn’t take long for him to fall even further, burying his head in the pillow and biting back a groan as he came. Yuri caught some it between his fingers, fucking into Otabek a few minutes more before he reached his own release.  

Panting in time with the aftershocks, Yuri let his head rest against the firm comfort of Otabek’s back. If he opened his eyes, he would see the red scratches that trailed down the skin. He counted three kisses he planted along Otabek’s spine, nuzzling into the soft dip between muscles.

With the force that it took to get himself out of bed in the early mornings, Yuri slipped away and gingerly walked towards the bathroom to throw away the condom. He used his clean hand to slip into silk red shorts, licking the palm of his other hand as he made his way back to the bed.

In his brief absence, Otabek had managed to flip over onto his back, his legs still open and resting lazily against the bed. His right arm was thrown over his head, and he groaned at the sight of Yuri and covered his eyes.

“I can't look at you doing that, baby.”

Yuri laughed, soft and content, and carefully sits himself on Otabek's stomach. He was light enough that his full weight on top of the other was more of a familiar comfort than anything overwhelming. His hand licked clean, he pushed Otabek’s sweat-dampened hair back and away from his face. He kissed his knuckles until Otabek finally pulled his arm away from where it was hiding his eyes. Yuri kissed his lips, soft and warm and affectionate.

Otabek was always really sweet to him after sex (well, usually), but he was especially clingy after he'd bottomed. His arms laced around to circle Yuri’s waist, keeping him resting flat on his chest.

They kiss languidly for a few minutes, indulging in it as if hadn't kissed all day. To be fair, Yuri didn't have time to spare on kisses when he entered their room and Otabek was begging to be fucked on his hands and knees.  

“You missed breakfast.” Yuri commented off-handedly when he shifted down to lay his head in the valley of Otabek’s shoulder. “We should get dressed and find some food. I'm hungry again too.”  

Otabek huffed a laugh, his fingers trailing up and down Yuri’s back in a familiar pattern. “We will, but before that I want to tell you something. I think you should know I already decided who I want for our opener.”  

Yuri narrowed his eyes but didn't look up to show his expression. Serik had mentioned some great idea, but Yuri was seriously doubting the younger’s scale.

“I actually met him a few years back.” Otabek continued, his voice as smooth and soothing as his light touches on Yuri’s back. “I was at a party and he was dancing, and I swear he was drawing the eyes of everyone in that room. He didn't care, he just moved to the music. I think he was there with someone else, but then he opened his eyes when the song stopped and spotted me. For some reason, he came over to talk to me, out of everyone who probably wanted to take him home that night. He knew about the band and he even sang some of my lyrics back to me. He was more than a little drunk, but still cute.”  

Yuri closed his eyes as he listened to Otabek’s story, cuddled close and warm on top of him. He was so relaxed, sated and content. He didn't know who Otabek was talking about, it sounded like just another typical groupie who hung around the band scene and wanted to hook up with the lead singer. Yuri yawned, hoping maybe he and Otabek could sneak in a short nap before they ventured out of the room to find food.

Otabek tangled his fingers into Yuri’s hair as he spoke. “I've only heard him sing a few times after that, I guess he's a little shy, but we can work on that. He's a pretty decent drummer, too. I bet if Serik worked with him he'd be golden.”  

“That sounds good, Beka.” Yuri murmured, blissfully unsuspicious.

“Speaking of, he’s got this long blonde hair, and _fuck_ , the legs on him. I bet he's got a pretty cock too. Whole package deal, you know?”

Yuri frowned a little at that. The ugly jealousy that ran through him began to flicker. Why was Otabek making comments about this random guy’s dick? Especially when he’d just had Yuri’s inside of him just minutes before, the lush.

“Are you still high, asshole?”

Otabek smirked, ignoring his comment. 

“I just hope he’ll think about touring, I hear he’s pretty attached to his boyfriend, you know how those types are with anyone who's not American. He's from, like, Kazakhstan or something. . .” He trailed off, and realization creeped over Yuri like a warm blanket. His eyes widened and he pushed up to rest his palms on Otabek’s chest, blonde hair framing him. He looked down at the Kazakh man incredulously, jaw slack with shock.  

“Beka, you're joking right?”

Otabek just looked up at him with his neutral expression, feigning ignorance. He reached out, gently brushing Yuri’s hair back on one side and tucking it behind his ears. Then he made the face, the face that he always made when he had an idea stuck in his mind, and the rest of the world be damned if he wasn't going to work to make it happen.  

He smirked, just the corner of his lip turned up.

“No, no dice Altin.” Yuri shook his head, sitting up and crossing his arms over his chest petulantly. “I’m not doing it. You can't just make that sexy smirk and smolder your eyes and expect me to just give into you on everything. I refuse.”  

The smirk only grew into a devilish grin, and before Yuri knew it hands were attacking his sides, a sharp laugh coming from him as Otabek threw him down onto the other side of the bed. Yuri gave no resistance when Otabek moved over him, grabbing his wrists and pinning them above his head. Before Yuri could protest further, Otabek was kissing his neck, and he felt himself melting into the touch, feeling Otabek’s bare chest pressing against his.  

He decided that not giving in to Otabek’s wild ideas would begin strictly after round two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's been keeping up with this story as I update, as you can see i've set the chapter limit to 7, because i finally went ahead and outlined the rest of this fic (There will be an epilogue too, so technically 8). I would love to be one of those writers with regular scheduled updates but.. lol. 
> 
> If you'd like to talk to me about this fic or anything, or see the shitposts i make during my writing process, feel free to come say hi over on [Tumblr](http://onotherflights.tumblr.com/)  
> as well!


	4. Going Steady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update, thank you to everyone who enjoys this story and leaves comments, i love you pumpkins.
> 
> If you do like this story, please check out part 1 - Lucky Seven. It's a prequel, set before AF takes place, and gives a lot of perspective and backstory for all the characters, especially the Altin boys. Also, Otabek is tatted up and that's only been teased so far in this story. 
> 
> also, the spotify playlists for each story is now linked in the summary. If you don't follow me on tumblr, you probably haven't seen them. Enjoy listening to them while reading! (Also, the 60s tune they sing in this chapter is on it!)

 Yuri gave into Otabek’s wild idea.

After an hour of distraction, they managed to put their clothes on and walk downstairs to the parking lot. Jarrod and Serik were already there, the younger of the two sporting a new rip in the knee of his jeans and a bloody band-aid slapped over where he’d fallen,  presumably after messing around on Jarrod’s board.  

“Hello, noise complaint number one and two.” Jarrod greets them in a playful tone as they walk up to where the younger boys are lingering next to the van. Otabek sits next to his brother in the van, immediately slipping into rushed kazakh and scolding him for skateboarding without any guards, yet still pulling his leg closer to gently inspect the damage. Serik huffs in annoyance and insists that no one does that anymore, that it’s not “cool”.

He shoots a look over at Yuri, who’s leaning against the open back door. He’s wearing one of Otabek’s old sky blue sweaters from his high school uniform, oversized on his small frame and messily tucked into his black button-up mini skirt. He’d remembered Otabek kissing his finger when he’d pricked it embroidering tiny white X’s all along the hemline of the same skirt, because he’d insisted it looked “cool”.

“Should we take him into hospital to see if they’ll need to give him stitches? Just in case?” Otabek mumbles, no one really listening to his over-concern.

 _Help me_ Serik mouths silently to Yuri, who just narrows his jade eyes and toys with the pearl choker around his neck. He sticks a white leather doc-clad foot up onto the back bumper, ripping the knee of his nude fishnets easily.

“There, we match.” He says flatly, and Otabek looks up to see the two smirking at each other. He looks back at his younger brother and squeezes his cheeks together between his hand.  

“One day you’ll really fuck up and be grateful for my concern instead of being annoyed with me.”  

He kisses the top of his head, and Serik groans dramatically and shoves him lightly, pushing himself off the edge of the van and walking away, albeit limping a little on his hurt leg. “Whatever, mom.”  

Otabek looks back at Yuri, who shrugs innocently.

“Kids these days.”

 

 *** 

 

 

They drive around town in the van until they find a small 50’s style American diner, complete with vinyl seats and a real jukebox. Yuri’s eyes light up in excitement as he pulls Otabek to the front door by his arm. A waitress comes right away and takes their order as they slide into a booth (cheese fries and a root beer float, two straws).  

“Beka, play DJ and find a good song.” Yuri suggests as he eyes the jukebox in the corner, digging change out of the jacket pocket and sliding it across the table.

Yuri watches him stride over to the old machine, a yellow glow to it and a real record spinning. He looks so unassumingly cool in his ripped-to-shreds jeans and his black tank top, showing off the muscles he always denies he has. He leans over top of the jukebox and concentrates, carefully examining the selection.

The waitress brings over their order and Yuri thanks her, immediately pulling his straw to his lips. The first sip of a root beer float is a prime luxury, and Yuri was happy to be the one to steal it.  

Distracted by simple pleasures, Yuri doesn't notice that the waitress is still standing there until she adds shyly, “You boys are playing the show up at Rosie’s tonight, right?”

“Yeah,” he smiles easily, eyes still lingering on Otabek. “My boyfriend’s band.”

“That's really cool,” she replies wistfully. “I wish I could go, but my boss is keeping me here until closing.”

 

Yuri looks up at the waitress, his eyebrow arched as he assesses her. She's young, probably a high school kid who couldn't get into the show even if she put a pound of makeup on and got a fake ID. She had that baby face, the one that used to get Yuri in trouble if the club was super strict on age, and most of the ones in little towns were unless you knew (i.e., were messing around with) someone.

“Well, how about I get the boys to stop by here for dinner after the show? They'll be starving.”

It slips from his mouth before he even realizes it, but he can't help but smile at the way her brown eyes light up. Yuri has always been partial to brown eyes, anyway.

“Really? That would be amazing!” She’s genuinely excited, the cheesy paper cap that's a part of her uniform nearly falls off as she bounces, clutching her notepad to her chest.

“It's nothing, they’ll be happy to get a decent meal before we hit the road.” He tells her casually as he spears his fork into the cheese Fries. Serik will bitch at him about schedules, but he thinks it's worth it to see the expression on the girl’s face as she rushes behind the counter to tell her friend, and they both smile widely, clutching their hands together.

Yuri looks back to Otabek in just enough time to see him find the perfect song, because he snaps his fingers and rushes to feed the machine coins. He walks back over to Yuri as the record drops, a sputtering of electric guitars playing from the corner and filling the restaurant.

Otabek slides into the booth and reaches for Yuri’s hands, holding them in his own and crooning along to the lyrics of the song.

 _Rockin little angel come down from the sky_  
_Down from the sky, come on down from the sky_  
_Rockin little angel come down from the sky_  
_Come on down and stop teasing me_

“Teasing? Innocent little _angel_ me? I would never.” Yuri's lips turned up coyly, watching as Otabek pulled his hand close, pressing his own lips against the back of it.  

“I was a rockabilly singer in my past life, didn't you know? I wrote that one for you, babe.”

Yuri just smirked, his eyes roaming out the window. If he brushed forward sections of his hair to frame his face, Otabek didn't notice the diversion from the soft pink filling his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose.  

They battled over cheese fries and talked about the set for the show, the heel of Yuri’s boot running up and down Otabek’s leg under the booth. With a few hours left before the show, Otabek walked hand in hand with Yuri around the park, watching in amusement when Yuri stuck a lollipop in his mouth, humming a nostalgic tune around the sucker as they strolled along under the Summer sun.

 _Rockin little angel I love you so_  
_I love you so, I love you so_  
_Rockin little angel I love you so_ _  
I want the whole wide world to know_

 

*** 

 

Later that night, Yuri kept good on his promise to the waitress. The manager of the small diner didn’t seem too pleased with a group of rowdy punks still high off adrenaline from the night’s show coming into his place of business, his eyes widening comically when Jarrod carried Holly in on his back. Her hair was a messy bun on top of her head, blue strands falling down in soft tendrils. She had stripped down to her bra and pink hot pants, and her shoes had been left in the van (thus the carrying). Yuri thought the old man's jaw would drop when he saw him walking in next, the sweater he had been wearing earlier gone and replaced with a see-through mesh top, his nipples covered with black tape in the shape of x’s (“To match my skirt, duh.” He had told Serik when he got a narrowed set of eyes thrown his way).

They occupied a row of booths between the band, the crew from the venue, and the tag-alongs. Yuri spotted the young waitress from across the room, sending her a smile and a wave while Otabek helped him pick out a new song.

Only a half hour later, Yuri found himself with his back pressed against the locked bathroom door, his fishnets ripped at their center and his skirt pushed up to his stomach. He stared at the graffiti on the tiles for all of ten minutes before he was closing his eyes, his head thrown back and the curses that fell between his painted lips joining the sharpie-written scripture on the walls in invisible ink. Otabek was everywhere, as always, devouring him.

The noises they made sounded too hot for the kitschy surroundings, but it didn't stop them. By the time they were done, otabek’s already ruined stage hair was damp with sweat. He zipped his pants back up carefully, walking to the sink to clean off his hands under warm water. Yuri tried to catch his breath and tug his skirt back down to a state of decency. In the rush, one of the space buns he'd affixed atop his head had completely unraveled, so he stood beside Otabek at the mirror and bit the bobby pins between his teeth as he fixed it back.

“Are you busy tomorrow night?”

It was odd, Otabek asking that question. They didn't have a gig, which Yuri always attended. When that happened it usually meant a night in with Otabek, cuddling in the cheap tv light of their motel room. Clearly, other plans were in the works.

“You know I don't.” Yuri replied, voice muffled as he spoke around the pins in his mouth.

Otabek softened, leaning back against the counter, running his knuckles over Yuri’s thigh. “May I take you on a date then?”

A smile grew along Yuri’s face, his smudged lipstick bleeding out at the corners of his mouth.

“We haven't been on one of those in a while. What's the occasion, hm?”

Otabek reached out, his own fingers curling Yuri's hair around itself to form a bun. He carefully pushed the pins into the hair, adjusting it as he went. Yuri's heart was trying its best to not beat faster with the affectionate attention.  

“Well, I was serious about you opening for us. You can't exactly do a one man show. I talked to Georgi about it and he had a few suggestions, so we’re hitting open-mic night at this local joint before we leave tomorrow night.”  

Otabek finished inserting the pins and looked back at Yuri’s reflection in the mirror, and smiled lightly, satisfied with his work.  

“We can go to dinner before, and shopping before that if you like. Anything you want.” He added, pulling Yuri closer by his waist. “How does that sound, angel?”

He was looking at Yuri like he was holding the moon. Yuri loved when he looked at him like that, he almost struggled to meet his eyes directly. Sometimes it overwhelmed him, how Otabek still affected his heart after all this time.  

His hands traveled up Otabek’s sides, his left hand landing over the patch of skin that, if not covered by his t-shirt and jacket, revealed Otabek’s favorite tattoo. He has quite a collection, each one having a story that Yuri had long memorized. Many late nights and early mornings were spent in Otabek’s arms, his fingers trailing over the dark ink and coaxing the details out of him.  

The tattoo over his chest was special, though. It was his lucky seventh, and Otabek was as much into superstition and luck as he was into his music.

Yuri also knew the tattoo like the back of his hand, because it came from his own hand. He remembers sketching it out, sitting beside Otabek watching him permanently mark himself with a symbol of Yuri, complete with a set of green eyes.  

“Sounds perfect.”

Otabek’s calloused hand cradled Yuri’s cheek, and his face moved closer. He leaned in, crowding Yuri in, until their foreheads pressed together.

“I love you, tiger. You know that, right?”

Yuri doesn't need to hear it. He can feel it in the silence, at three in the morning with only the neon motel sign light glowing outside the window. He’d wake from a nightmare, and Otabek would pull him closer unconsciously in his sleep. He could see it in Otabek's eyes when he was on stage, singing while catching Yuri’s gaze and holding it, the words flowing through him for Yuri, inspired by Yuri.

He could sense it when Serik, who knew Otabek better than even Yuri did, would look at the two of them together. Sometimes, Yuri would catch him smiling.

“I know, I love you too.”  

Otabek caught Yuri’s lips with his own and Yuri melted into the kiss, his fingers gripping the cotton fabric beneath them.

For a moment there, Yuri could imagine that they were just two people kissing. For a while, they weren't dirty with sweat and soaked through with the smell of musk and alcohol. They weren't covered in leather and studs and fishnets and makeup. They weren't in a dingy bathroom in a run-down diner in the middle of America, and they were home. Nothing bad had ever happened to either of them, and they weren't scarred, and they were just two people.

Otabek broke the kiss first.

Before he could sigh, quick affectionate pecks were being littered along his jaw and his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose until he laughed, and he could feel Otabek smile against him.

He looked up as Otabek swiped the side of his mouth, cleaning off the red lipstick that had smeared over pale skin.  

“You didn't get any on me, right?” He chuckled, and Yuri shook his head, the buns on top of it shaking too.

“We should get back,” Yuri smirked, taking his hand and pulling him towards the door. “I can almost feel _іні_ complaining he wants to go back to the room to sleep.”  

At the mention of Serik, Otabek falters for a moment. His smile turns nervous, and he drops his hands. Still, he's smiling.

“You go ahead, I'll be out in a minute.”  

Yuri’s face doesn't change, but he knows. He remembers then that they’re not just two people, and there was so much more that complicated things.  

When Yuri felt something, he released it and let it spread like fire. He became irrational, angry, rebellious; an inferno. Otabek was the opposite. He carried his emotions on his shoulders, never letting them stray. He stayed quiet, dark and cold as snow falling to the ground on a Winter night.  

Yuri had always been drawn to the ice.

Pressing a kiss to his forehead, Yuri put on a fake smile like he knew no better. “Okay, babe. Hurry up.”

He turned to go, and as he was closing the door behind him, he watched for a moment through the last sliver, his hand keeping the door from shutting all the way.

Thinking he was alone, Otabek looked at himself in the mirror. It was only a moment, but Yuri could see any semblance of the Otabek he knew, the one he was _just_ with, slip away from his expression.  

He looked away, and started digging through his inner jacket pockets. He was frantic, searching for something like he was a rabid animal. When he found it, he kept it clenched in his fist, hiding it even though he was alone.

Yuri knew, but he didn't want to know anymore. He was afraid to leave. What if this hit was the one that stopped his heart?

His fingers numb as they fell to his sides and he turned from the door, Yuri let it close behind him.

A moment later, he heard the lock click back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the next chapter will be fun ! *Sweats nervously* (pls don't kill me)
> 
> any questions or concerns? Please leave them here or shoot me a message on tumblr (same url) and i will be happy to share my answer to it (I'm bursting with ideas for this verse, please talk to me about it lol)


	5. Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we finally are! Hope it was worth the wait. As always, i looked over this myself so please let me know of any inevitable errors.
> 
> Also, I want to quickly mention that if you haven't read the first part of this series yet, Lucky Seven, i REALLY recommend you to. It gives a lot of perspective for what's to be coming in the rest of this series.

**  
**Yuri woke to the smell of roses. **  
**

It was morning, the sun streaming in from the wide window in their motel room. He could smell the sweet and dark scent, and he opened his eyes slowly and expected Otabek to be there, holding the curled blooms in his hand.

Instead, Yuri was greeted by the red straight on, a beautiful bouquet of a dozen or so roses staring back at him when he opened his eyes, resting on the pillow next to him.

Being closer to consciousness now, Yuri also felt the soft press of lips against his bare skin. His emerald eyes wandered down the path of his body and quickly met up with warm brown, dark and vicious and looking up at him.

“Good morning, rockstar.”

Otabek didn't respond, just let his eyes close and his mouth press soft and open to Yuri’s hip bone, then moved his head to the other side and repeated. As wakefulness came to Yuri like a cup of coffee, Otabek was teasing him, kissing and licking just around where Yuri wanted him to be.

Yuri pushed his front teeth into his bottom lip, resisting a reaction. He figured the fact that he was hard was reaction enough.

As Otabek took him into his mouth, Yuri turned his head and pressed his face against the soft petals, inhaling the scent. He didn't stop until Yuri was half arched off the bed, his face still half hidden in the roses. By the end of it, Yuri was moaning softly, his lips brushing against the petals, one hand clutching the sheets and the other entangled in Otabek’s hair.

Just when he fell back against the white sheets, boneless, he was being pulled down to the middle of the bed by guitar calloused hands with a sated smirk on his pink lips.

Looming over him, Otabek dipped to kiss him, soft and sweet the way that all first of the morning kisses should be. Yuri was the one to wrap his legs around fully dressed hips and pull him in close, welcoming his tongue and the taste of himself.

“Thank you,” Yuri murmured when they parted. Otabek was doing that thing again, where he just lay at Yuri’s side and admired his face. He reached his hand out, brushing his thumb along Otabek’s bottom lip. Then he looked back up, towards the bouquet still resting neatly on the pillow at the top of the bed. “They're beautiful.”

Otabek let his head rest on Yuri’s shoulder, his breath soft against a pale neck.

“I picked out the ones that reminded me most of you.”

They lay there in silence, Yuri toying with Otabek’s hair and letting the sweet words sink in the way that the sun was warming their bed. It was only their bed for a few more hours, then it would be (hopefully) gifted clean sheets and new inhabitants would enter the motel room, and it would be their bed.

Yuri pulled the bouquet towards him again, breathing in the scent. He adored roses. He loved the way they looked, even when they were dying. They were the most beautiful flowers, and he didn't care if anyone thought they were overrated. They were still his favorite.

“You get dressed, I'll find some water for them.” Otabek gingerly took them, and kneeled off the bed.

Sighing dreamily, Yuri crawled off the bed. He let the shirt he'd slept in, the one that had been pushed up to his chest, fall naturally at his knees. He walked over to the sink and carefully began to comb through the tangled mess of his hair. It was longer now, falling past his shoulders to his chest. He pulled it up and toyed with it until his messy bun was sufficiently messy, but not too much.

He watched Otabek in the mirror as he got ready, brushing his teeth and applying makeup as Otabek carefully placed the roses in an empty styrofoam cup left over from a slushie. He filled it with bottled water, carefully arranging them to look full and alive. After he arranged the flowers, he began packing their bag. After tonight, they'd be traveling to a new place. Another town, another show.

Once fully dressed, Yuri walked over to where he was standing, leafing through his leather bound journal, trying discern his own handwriting.

He stood behind Otabek and wrapped his arms around him, pressing a kiss into the lotus bloom on the back of his neck that matched the color of his own eyes. He pressed one hand to the tiger on Otabek’s chest, the other wrapping around his forearm, thumb brushing over the lyrics written permanently there, the little rose that accompanied them. It gave Yuri comfort to know what if they were ever apart, Otabek still carried so much of Yuri with him.

“I should buy you flowers more often, you’re being very sweet to me, tiger. You must want something.”

Yuri hummed, letting his forehead rest on Otabek’s back as he teased him. “You already made me come, what else could I possibly want?”

Otabek smirked, turning to wrap his arms around Yuri’s waist, picking him up off his feet.

“I believe I promised you a full day.”

Yuri smiled, his lips painted the color of the roses.

“Then you'll give me whatever I ask for?”

Otabek nodded, kissing each of his eyelids when he closed them. Otabek could be really sweet when he wanted to be, even more so when he was sober.

“As you wish.”

 

 

Cafe dates were Yuri’s favorite, right after diner dates. Food and coffee seemed to be a common theme, anyway.

They held hands as they waited in line for coffee and got a table near the window, the sunlight warming their black clothes. Yuri had just sat down, ripping open a pink paper packet and pouring artificial sweetness into his coffee. He wasn’t a snob about his coffee, but apparently this deterred Otabek, as he set his cup down and muttered something about being back soon turning on his heel just as quick.

Yuri held the spoon suspended above his cup, watching Otabek's back until it disappeared behind the bathroom door, until he snapped out of it. He let the silver clank against the porcelain of the cup, the noise causing a few eyes to wander over to him, some of them lingering. He was used to it, but it suddenly made his cheeks feel warm and turn his stomach into a peach pit, so he looked out the window instead of taking the coveted first sip of his coffee.

He didn't know why he felt any certain way. Things had been going so well, but it was only a matter of time before the gossiping voices in his head began to whisper. It felt like everyone in the cafe was looking at him, sitting alone with a cup waiting across from him.

It could be nothing, but Yuri couldn't stop thinking of the night before, the sound of that lock clicking behind his back.

He couldn't say anything, because he would only be a hypocrite. Somehow, it was different when they were together.

When they were alone together, they were always just having fun. Another line, another drink, it didn't mean anything. It was sexy, dangerous, a part of the lifestyle. Nothing could ever touch them when they were high together, nothing could ever bring them down. When they were alone together, nothing could ever kill them.

Sitting there alone, however, and just wondering if Otabek was bumping lines alone, made him worry. He couldn't get the thought out of his head, what if he wasn't there and something happened? Otabek never really knew how to put a cap on anything.

His fingers trembled, and he tried hard to actively block the thoughts of his mother. He thought about not thinking about her, and that somehow made it worse. She was an uninvited guest at this café table, and Yuri had always done his best to block out the voice in his head that sometimes sounded fair and thick with icy dialect.

Yuri waited, his fishnet-covered leg bouncing under the table. He sipped his drink, moved his hair behind his ear, counted the seconds. He looked out the window to avoid the eyes raking over him, wanting to know the story of the boy by the window.

Finally, Otabek came back. He had that easy smile on his face, the one he reserved for Yuri. He took a sip of his drink and then looked up, his brown eyes bright. It was enough for Yuri to file away his worry. The uninvited guest left for her home off the coast of Yuri’s psyche.

“So,” He murmured with stained lips, easily leaning back in his seat. They weren't going to talk about it, and Yuri felt silly for even suspecting anything. Besides, Otabek had always been able to handle anything. “Tell me about the show tonight.”

 

 

Walking into another band’s gig was always a surreal experience. It was one part relief - if anyone was getting heckled off the stage that night at least it was someone else. It was also two parts what Yuri loved - being a part of the music and getting to see Otabek on the other side.

Being a performer was one thing, but Otabek was genuinely passionate and engrossed in everything he did, especially music. It was a treat to Yuri, to watch him search through a record shop or play a new guitar for the first time. When they went to shows, it was such a different experience when it was the two of them. When it was just Yuri in the crowd, he would dance and yell and sing along just like everyone else. It was an invisible competition, to prove that after all this time Yuri was still their biggest fan, Otabek’s biggest fan at the very least.

When they went to shows together though, neither one of them had to perform. They were just kids again, living through it. To be able to just grab Otabek in the middle of a song and kiss him at the perfect moment, that was the part Yuri loved best.

They shared two beers at the bar before the show, then moved into the crowd when the lights dimmed, their bones slightly lazy.

Moments like this were what kept Yuri hanging on. Fleeting, priceless moments, moments just before chaos. Like the moment when Otabek turned to look at him and his lips formed a silent request, like they were the only two people in the room.

_Kiss me._

Yuri wrapped his arms around Otabek’s neck and stood on the toes of his chunky black boots, and answered his call. It didn’t matter that they were half stoned and a little bit drunk, with Yuri’s beer spilling behind them on the already sticky floor. They were too busy with more important things, namely kissing.They were still encircled in each other when the first chords filled the space around them.

When they found fresh air, it was surging with energy. Onstage, a beautiful girl began to sing. In the crowd, Yuri watched as Otabek looked towards the front, towards the show. Yuri didn’t have to look away, Otabek was a show himself.

A few more sips of beer (with noticeably less quantity but he was too happy to care) gave Yuri the will to look ahead. It was clear by the spotlighting and the positioning that they were meant to be looking at the lead singer, who was strutting around in a t-shirt dress and thigh-highs. Yuri made a mental fashion note. He could do even better, he had the killer legs for it. Otabek would testify to that, they were his temple steps.

His green eyes were locked for the first song, but as the set went on, they began to roam faithlessly. There were two other girls on the stage besides the lead singer. They were slightly in the background, half hidden by flashing lights and hairography. Yuri leaned back against Otabek, swaying.

“Watch them,” he whispered in his ear, like they were ten year olds in a secret scouting club. It wasn’t so far from the truth. “They’re better than the lead.”

Yuri watched Otabek watching them. He watched the shift of his eyes, the way he put his hands in his pockets. He was tracking the whole stage, learning. If there was one thing Otabek knew, it was the dynamics of a band. It was the only reason Almaty’s Fire worked. He was not a man of many words offstage but Otabek was a leader, not just the lead singer. He knew how to see it in other bands.

“She doesn’t work with them,” he said a moment later, somehow privately to Yuri despite the noise. “She thinks it’s only her show.”

Yuri smirked his painted lips. “Her rookie mistake might just be my best shot.”

Otabek bit his lip, looked him over. “Wait until after the show to pounce, alright tiger?”

When Otabek wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in, Yuri went willingly. They fit so damn good together.

For one of the songs, a more heartfelt rock ballad, Otabek closed his eyes. Yuri leaned his head on Otabek’s shoulder, both of them swaying and occasionally tripping over their own boots with the crowd. Yuri wasn’t high that night, but sometimes with Otabek the lines blurred. Who wanted to be fully sober anyway? Yuri would rather die right there in the middle of a sweaty crowd, fully alive, than numb. He was a live wire that night, they both were.

There was only one way to burn so much free energy.

Yuri waited until a rising chorus to put his lips on Otabek’s neck.

“Take me backstage.”

It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t a hope. It was a command.

He gave one last look towards the pair of girls in front of the crowd, stealing the show or at the very least his attention. The one with short red hair and a keyboard at her hips sang backup vocals with her eyes closed. The other had long hair, almost black in the shadows of the stage light. She glistened with sweat, strands of her hair sticking to her slim face. She had an intense look in her eyes, like she was looking out into the crowd for her next victim and taking out the anger on the guitar in her hands. She looked ready to kill or conquer.

Yuri took one last adoring look before he let Otabek lead him through the crowd, who had no cares for them.  _They don’t know who they’re missing_  Yuri thought,  _at least not yet._

 

 

Together, they made a mess.

They were always punks at heart, even if anarchy for the night meant knocking over a rack of clothes and two pairs of black boots under one locked door. Their protest was in the violent smudge of Yuri’s lipstick, their riot was in the streaked lines that Yuri’s nails made down Otabek’s back. Their loud rebellion was muffled by the sticky sweet of two pale fingers slightly curved against Otabek’s tongue and Yuri’s teeth biting into the collar of his leather jacket to keep quiet.

Their revolution was the way they moved together.

 

“You made a mess,” Yuri complained half-heartedly in the aftermath. He was looking at his makeup in the mirror, the eyeliner streaks from wet eyes to the smear of lipstick that went across his chin and his cheek.

Otabek had not escaped unscathed, the same product was smeared across his neck like a gash. Yuri didn’t always wear makeup, it was just something he liked to play with. Even though he initiated their little backstage venture that time, along with countless others, he still wished there was a way to instantly wipe off all his hard work before they tore each other apart, kind of like that princess from that Disney movie that Serik loves so much.

“You alright?”

Otabek was standing behind him, bent to kiss the dip of Yuri’s back. Their eyes met in the mirror and Yuri nodded, tucking his hair back.

He turned, pulling Otabek closer and kissing him once, chaste. Before he had time to steal another one, there was an angry pounding at the dressing room door.

They sheepishly made their way over, making final wardrobe adjustments and tucks as Yuri fumbled with the lock. Finally it swung back to reveal a very angry Canadian, a rare sight in nature.

Yuri knew all about JJ. They had met the year before at a show, and then hung out all night into the next morning. The last time they had seen JJ, Otabek had beat him in a competition of lines and Yuri had thrown a bottle at his head.

When the door opened, he immediately traded his defenses for a blinding smile. 

He said their names loudly and joyfully, like they had exclamation points as the final letters, and opened up his arms.

Yuri wrapped his arm around Otabek’s to prevent any forced hugging, and thankfully there was no call for a group hug.

Even still, JJ began talking like they were old friends from college and not just two lead singers who both had an affinity for coke.

Beside JJ stood his gorgeously unattainable girlfriend, Isabella. She was a photojournalist and always seemed out of place whenever they ran into each other backstage at a show or in a grimy pub or a club. She was too poise for the punk rock scene, or what was left of it anyway. That night she had on a perfectly painted red lip, and simple black eyeliner angled so sharply it looked lethal. She was powerful, mysterious, beautiful.

Untouchable.

Yuri wiped at his smudged lipstick, biting the nail of his thumb and looking away from her.  

Otabek let his arm slip out of Yuri’s grip. At the shift, Yuri looked up at him.

JJ was ushering Otabek back into the dressing room they’d just been kicked out of, one arm over his shoulder.

Otabek looked back at him, reassuring him with the slight curve of his lip.

“You go and find the girls, I’ll meet you out back.”

Yuri had a sinking feeling their time together was over for the night, and trading a glance with Isabella that lasted a moment too long, it seemed she agreed.

Maybe if it was another life, they would have ignored this brushing off and followed their two boyfriends inside. Maybe they would have linked arms and walked to the bar together. Maybe they would have at least talked to each other.

Instead, Isabella walked further backstage and Yuri walked out the back door.

 

 

Finding the backup singers wasn’t a huge dilemma, although Yuri sort of wished it had been.

He wasn’t able to finish his cigarette before the back door was swinging open again, only this time it wasn’t roadies or groupies or any other ie’s, it was exactly who he was looking for.

“I’m so fucking done with her fake fucking bullshit,”

Of course, she said so in Italian. Because of Holly, Yuri understood every word.

Such an artful selection made Yuri peek up from where he was squatting against the brick wall in the alleyway, and when he saw the long black hair and the tiny black dress he immediately stood up and straightened his skirt, putting the cigarette out under the heel of his boot.

Noticing his presence, the beautiful girl with the black hair turned off her spew of curses and smiled. When she addressed Yuri, her voice was higher, sweeter.

“Oh hello,” she walked forward smiling, the redhead stayed behind and planted firmly on the stone steps. “Sorry, we didn’t know anyone was out here.”

“It’s alright,” Yuri replied, but made no move to hide the cut of his accent or look any less angry. Being intimidating was usually in his favor. “I was actually hoping to find the two of you.”

The dark-haired girl raised a perfect eyebrow in interest, but before she could say anything the redhead stepped forward.

“I know who you are,” she stated bluntly, her arms crossed over her chest and pushing her cleavage to the front of her ripped tank top. “You’re with the lead singer of Almaty’s Fire.”

There was a gasp of excitement from the other girl, and Yuri rolled his eyes and pulled out another cigarette.

“So what if I am?” He murmured around the cigarette between his lips.

It had happened every once in awhile over the past few years. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t say anything about it. He’d be just as much of a hypocrite as he would if he said anything about the coke. He was fine with the drugs as long as they didn’t kill anyone, and he was fine with being the singular person Otabek wanted to be with, but he still wanted his own identity.

In that moment, all he wanted was sleep.

Instead, the redhead stepped forward and took the lighter he was using right out of his hand.

Before he could pounce and lash out in anger, he realized he was in shock.

She smirked and placed a Marlboro between her lips, staining the filter with red lipstick.

“I think we can help each other out, Yuri Plisetsky.”

Yuri knew then that it would be the start of a beautiful friendship.

 

 

Mila and Sara turned out to be revolutionaries of their own.

It had taken some convincing to leave without Otabek, but now Yuri was on his way to somewhere he’d never been to.

He’d been to house parties, kickbacks, and more bars and pubs than he ever needed to in his life.

Breaking into an abandoned movie theatre was a romantic pastime.

A children’s park next to a graveyard though, that was new for him. There was a beautifully twisted irony in seeing the headstones from the swingset.

He looked up at the stars while Mila lit up next to him, Sara sitting backwards on her lap. When he looked back as them, glowing underneath the nearby street lamp, they were shotgunning the smoke, mouths melding in the middle.

Seeing them made him miss Otabek.

According to Mila, this was Sara’s favorite spot in town. It said something about the town.

Maybe that’s why they were so eager to escape, that combined with the fact that they were in a band with Mila’s ex’s ex who also hooked up with Mila (it was very complicated, Yuri had listened to them explain on the walk).

“Alright Yuri,” Sara said, straightening her back and looking very serious for someone holding a joint between glitter-painted fingernails and sitting on a kid’s swing. “This is the official first band joint. We were going to go for a blood pact, but we just met you.”

Yuri smirked, taking it from her. “That’s probably for the best.”

He took a hit, and exhaled towards the stars. His boots kicked at the rocks under his feet.

They took his mind off Otabek, at least temporarily. It all seemed so easy, in the haze of being high.

“What do you mean you’re too shy?” Mila laughed when Yuri said he didn’t intend on being the lead singer. He would rather leave that job to Holly, she was more confident when it came to that sort of thing.

“You’re Yuri fucking Plisetsky,” Sara stated with smoke framing her face. She hadn’t known him an hour ago, but they were a band now. They were as new as the scrapes on Yuri’s knees he got when he jumped off the swing, stumbling and laughing. Just like the rips in his tights, there was no way to tell how they would fare with being stitched together.

They were all too high to care, so it sounded like a good idea in the moment.

By the time they had fallen into the backseat of an Uber together, they were old friends, at least for the night.

 

When they arrived at the hotel, Sara kissed both of his cheeks before he could groan in fake disgust and get out of the car. He promised them he and Holly would be at their place for practice the next day, and begged his eyes to stay open as he wandered through the fluorescent hallways, his boots heavy on the psychedelic carpet.

He passed a window that looked out to the pool, brightly lit in the night. It was so late, the water was still and empty. As he passed by though, Yuri could swear he saw someone sitting at the edge of the diving board, but they were in the shadows. He could almost swear that it was Jarrod.

But maybe he was just still high.

 

When he unlocks the door, Yuri finds Otabek fast asleep with another boy in the bed.

Serik sleeps like most sixteen year old boys, taking up too much space with limbs he is just growing into. His legs still ache from his growth spurt. He has an arm thrown over his eyes, but it does nothing to hide the wave of his hair, messy and sticking out against the pillow.

Beside him, Otabek sleeps so silently it’s almost like he’s gone, but Yuri watches the gentle rise and fall of his bare chest.

Yuri closed the door quietly behind himself so as to not wake them, not that he could be heard over Serik’s light snores anyway.

As he sits on the unused side of the bed to unlace his boots, he sees that the roses from that morning have found a new home, much improved from the styrofoam cup. They’re in a plastic vase cut to look like glass. The light from the pool and moon shine through the window, casting the flowers in blue light and masking them as violet.

He undresses silently, moving to the suitcase to find a shirt to sleep in. Sleepily, he wonders what Otabek was up to while he was with the girls.

He pulls out an old shirt and boxers, clutching them in his hand, and goes to zip the suitcase back.

His hand brushes the back zippered compartment. Usually, they keep it empty. It isn’t tonight.

“One brick, two brick,” Yuri hums under his breath, running his finger over the zipper.

He doesn’t want to know if he’s right. He doesn’t want to look.

He looks back to Otabek instead, still standing naked in the soft blue light. He’s lying there under the covers, beautiful and at peace. You would never tell, looking at him. You would never tell, with his little brother sleeping next to him and roses opening themselves up just to watch him.

Yuri would never tell.

He closed the suitcase and put his clothes on, padding around the bed and slipping in between  the cool sheets, instantly seeking the warmth of Otabek’s waiting arms.

He slipped his hand over the tiger tattoo on Otabek’s chest, and feels hands on his waist, pulling him in.

“Yuri,” whispers a deep voice, lowly. He shivers at the sound, and Otabek keeps pulling until they’re flush, his head tucked under Otabek’s chin. “You alright?”

He doesn’t lie, he just closes his eyes.

He traces the stripes of the tiger, the ones he knows by muscle memory, and falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter title: Problems, problems. 
> 
> My outline is currently 15 chapters in, and i'm thinking endgame will be about 17, more or less. I don't know how often i'll update but i want to reassure everyone that this will eventually be finished. Thank you for everyone sticking along for the ride. At this point AF is a passion project, a stress-reliever, and the ultimate outlet. I would write it for myself, but i'm so happy to have this platform to be able to share it with everyone. I miss you all, and thank you for your continued support even in my half-goneness. Sorry my life is a beautiful busy mess. 
> 
> (For those of you wondering; hey, why isn't Yuri going to sing?? ...All will be known in time)


	6. Problems, Problems

  


“Get off me you wild animal,”

The sound of Serik’s laughter broke through the morning light, only muffled when Yuri hit him with a pillow to the face.

They were like cubs in the mornings sometimes, still too much energy from the night before and nowhere else to put it. They rolled over each other and wrestled, far too light to hurt one another. When Yuri sent Serik off the bed and rolling onto the floor with a thump, they called a silent truce. For the time being.

“Speaking of,” Serik doesn’t miss a beat, breathless as he crawled back onto the bed, his soft curls a wild mess, “Where is my brother?”

Yuri shrugged, crossing his legs and tying his hair up. It was probably more of a mess than Serik’s, he didn’t get the chance to wash out the hairspray before just collapsing into bed after the show.

“Getting food with Jarrod, I think,” Yuri murmured, a bobby pin sticking out between his lips.

It had been nearly a month since Mila and Sara had joined them on the road and while it had felt like kismet, their addition had thrown the usual sleeping arrangements out of balance. Now Serik hopped from Otabek and Yuri’s room to Holly and Jarrod’s like a child of divorce switching parents for the night. Of course, he was more partial to the pair that included his brother and his partner in crime. Someone had to go with him on midnight candy runs, and Otabek wasn’t always around to do it so Yuri naturally filled that spot.

If Yuri didn’t think about it too much, he was glad. He hadn’t spent so much time with Serik in a long while, it was good to be close again.

Of course, Serik joined him for all the new band practices. They didn’t have a name yet, they barely had a set list, a few of Yuri’s from over the years, stapled with a song Mila had penned, and a rock cover of an old Nirvana favorite spread over top. Yuri had been doing better on drums than he ever expected, with Serik’s help. He liked it, being in the background, sitting at the drum kit. He felt safe there, and he could just bang out anything he was feeling without being so exposed. If it felt like something was missing, Yuri didn’t mention it. It was bringing him closer to Serik, and he finally had something to _do_ other than Otabek. This was his gig.

Still, insisting that Holly sing lead had been about as good of an idea as the time he and Serik decided to get burritos from this gas station they had stopped at along the road. It was a shitty idea.

Holly was a beautiful singer, Yuri had known this since they met. Even drunk off her ass and stumbling into Yuri’s arms backstage, she was ethereal. Plus, with the blue hair and the spunky attitude she was everything a lead singer should be. Everything Yuri wanted to be on paper really, but he never seemed able to back it up. At least, not in front of anyone but Otabek. He wasn’t focused enough, maybe not driven enough.

Maybe not angry enough.

Either way, as on every path to hell, Yuri had good intentions. He thought the band would be good for both of them, a way to step out of the shadow of Almaty’s Fire and do their own thing. It might have been, if only Holly had shown up for practice more than every other time they all got together.

Yuri should have known better, he knew Holly better than anyone. When she and Jarrod were after each other for better or worse, it was always worse for everyone else.

Serik pulled him out of his thoughts from where he was standing by the window, looking out at the parking lot.

“Well, wherever they were, they’re back now. My van just pulled up.”

Yuri slid off the bed and joined him at the window.

Sometimes, in the middle of a perfectly ordinary day, Otabek still managed to take his breath away.

He had his hair slicked back, all black. He had a bottle of Jones in his hand, meaning that when Yuri would kiss him, it would be like licking sugarcane.

“Tell him I’m running a bath,” Yuri said softly, tearing himself from the window. Serik huffed a laugh, threw the pillows back on the bed, and left the room.

Yuri left a trail of clothes behind him.

  
  
  


“Fuck, that feels good.”

Otabek smirked, his hair damp and sticking against his forehead. It was hot, the steam fogging the mirror hanging on the back of the door up so that if they looked at it, they were just blurs of color.

“I can paint your nails later if you want,” He said, and Yuri nodded in a lazy reply. He had one heel resting on Otabek’s chest, and the other foot in Otabek’s hands, his thumbs working away the aches. The water they sat in was still warm, the perfect temperature for Yuri to relax into. When they bathed together Otabek always needed the water steaming hot, so much so that Yuri always makes a show of stripping out of his pajamas and tying up his hair before even daring to dip a toe in the water. Of course as soon as he’s close enough, Otabek is pulling him in with a devilish curve on his lips. After a short romp, they had settled across from each other, a tangle of legs entrapped in a faded yellow hotel bathtub.

While Otabek rubbed his feet, Yuri fiddled with a lighter. It was black with a tally mark and two lines drawn next to it in silver marking, just another lucky seven Yuri likes to carry around with him.

After a few hopeless flames, the spark caught and he lit the gateway between his lips.They’re used to sharing mattresses and words, so the spliff is no different. They trade hits with sawed-off kisses, the water splashing against the sides of the tub whenever they moved. When the smoke cleared, Otabek sung under his breath and braided Yuri’s freshly washed hair, pressing new lyrics into the nape of his neck where he kissed him, tying his hair off.

Those were the moments when Yuri can feel his love for Otabek in its purest form. In the chaos and the ugliness of the world, they are untouched, at least for a moment.

Eventually it always fades away, draining like the warm bath water they share.

Yuri’s naked skin is flushed pink from the heat of the water as he stumbled on his way out of the bathtub as the suds circled the drain. He may have downed half a bottle of peach schnapps for breakfast, no regrets.

“Woah tiger,” Otabek chuckled as he steadied him in his arms, and Yuri could only roll his eyes half-heartedly. Even when they’re both fucked up, somehow Otabek always seems to be the one who can stand on two feet and carry someone. Unless he’s already passed out.

Otabek stood behind him and watched him get ready for band practice like it was the most interesting thing in the world. He knew he could nuzzle Yuri’s neck when he was applying his highlight, but he strays when Yuri is drawing on his thick eyeliner with a steady hand.

He could be sweet as honey. When he wasn't high.

Holly called for a brief moment on the hotel phone, and Yuri huffs and slammed the phone down as he wiggled into his tight jeans after he had hung up.

“What is it now?” Otabek wondered, muffled from where he’s laying facedown on the bed. When Yuri spoke, he turned his head to watch him.

“She’s going to be late to practice, fighting with Jar again,” he grumbled. He swore if it was anyone but Holly he wouldn’t put up with that shit. Well, maybe for Otabek. Okay, and Serik too. But that was as wide as his heart went, Yuri was sure of it. “I swear if they’re not fucking every minute of the day, they’re fighting over pointless shit.”

“Fighting is foreplay to them.”

Yuri rolled his eyes but huffed a laugh of agreement. He was glad he never fought with Otabek like that, not about anything. Really thinking about it, the last time he’d been really angry at Otabek was when he had said he loved Yuri for the first time.

He spent much longer lacing up his boots than was needed, lingering on the thought.

Why didn’t they fight? Their life together wasn’t so perfect that they had nothing that could be fought about. Jarrod and Holly certainly found a lot.

The thing was that they moved so fast. The past two years had been a grind, an endless circus in which Otabek was both the ringmaster and the freakshow, depending on which side of the curtain you were on. Yuri thrives on the madness of it all, in two years he had never lost that sense of thrill.

But in his quiet thoughts, laces between his fingertips and his back to Otabek, he wondered where it was all going. Almaty’s Fire hadn’t even finished their first full album, and it wasn’t like their EP’s were causing a scene. Still, people came to the shows, and Otabek loved it. Would there come a time when Otabek stopped looking for him in the crowd or behind the curtain?

Distantly, a thought rattled in the back of his mind.

_What are we even doing here?_

He was pulled from his thoughts by two arms wrapping around his bare torso before he had a chance to get his shirt on, leaning back into the affection and letting himself be held like a rag doll. Otabek kissed his neck, let his hands wander. Yuri’s thoughts went with them.  


 

Later, just before Serik would knock softly and greet them with pop rocks on his tongue, Otabek whispered a familiar suggestion. It was as seductive as his hands moving over familiar curves, teasing at muscle memory chords.

“You want a little to keep you up?”

He was already getting up, out of the bed, moving out of Yuri’s line of sight. He let his head rest against the artificial wood of the headboard, waited a beat or two before answering.

“Yeah,” that was to say, _yeah I’ll do a line with you, I’ll sniff._ It was to say, _yeah, I’ll do it with you while I’m here so you’re not doing it alone._ It was to say a lot of things, all wrapped up in that one word.

He was going to do it anyway, Yuri would rather be on the right side of the locked door.

When Otabek returned to the bed, he looked empty-handed. He opened up his palm to reveal a tiny vial, which Yuri eyed suspiciously.

He never carried it like that. Tiny bags he carried around in jacket pockets for weeks, lines pushed around with credit cards and razors. Sloppy, quick, amateur. This was different, this was a user’s new lover.

It felt like watching something private, so Yuri averted his eyes when Otabek took his hit, both times. He let his eyes wander instead over the tattoos that marked his skin, the brilliant flashes of black and red ink.

_What mark would all of this leave?_

When Otabek held out the little snuff spoon, so small it could barely hold a drop of the ocean, Yuri looked up at him again.

He lowered his head, closed his eyes, and inhaled.

  


Serik was smarter than all of them. It wasn’t something Yuri forgot, and he knew by how quiet he was on the ride to practice that Serik had a lot on his mind. He would be turning eighteen in a few months, just before the next tour. It would be the big one if the album made it, and it might be Serik’s last. Yuri had heard chopped pieces of conversation from back home, Otabek’s parents wanting their youngest son to return home, and of course marriage was implied. He was about to be eighteen after all. You’d think their parents would have learned by the time they had gotten to Serik, with neither of their two older sons being married off yet. Well, not in that sort of sense. Otabek’s older brother, Erzhan, was married to his business. Otabek was married to the music, along with a few extramarital affairs on the side.

Yuri was eighteen when he had first met Otabek.

As he looked out the window, equally as quiet and curled in the passenger seat, Yuri sent out a silent hope that Serik would remain smart, and maybe as seemingly innocent, as he was at seventeen.

Still, it must be weighing heavy on him. He had left home to stand by his brother, to protect him.

He had been on the other side of the locked door for longer than Yuri, though.  
  


When Holly finally got to practice, Yuri’s buzz was wearing off. He’d been singing lead, with Serik on drums for him while they waited.

They’d been vibing, having _fun_.

Holly made sure to fuck that up right away.

She didn’t get along with Mila, that much was clear right away. She hadn’t really bonded with the pair the way that Yuri had, and it created an awkward tension for one small living room.

After one snap about sloppy technique, Mila flipped her off subtly around a fret and went over to sulk and kiss her girlfriend. Yuri stood up from the drum kit, walking over to Holly and pulling a flask out of his boot. It was familiar to their friendship as sharing clothes and boys.

“Here, take a shot with me Holls,” He murmured, handing over the silver holder. “You need to relax.”

It was weird to say that to Holly, it was usually the other way around.

“I’m not drinking right now,” She scoffed, turning her nose up. Yuri rolled his eyes and replaced the flask in his boot, untouched.

After the break, they got two songs in before Holly had her next round of firecrackers. This time, her anger seemed to spew in every general direction, but a spark hit Yuri first.

She was saying something about him not keeping up, but it sounded muffled in his ears,like it was being said by someone so far away. The cymbals were still ringing.

Then she said something new, something Yuri never expected to hear, and he heard it clear as day.

“. . . and it’s so obvious you’re high, you have the eyes for it.”

Yuri stood up, as if to somehow defend himself from the tip of the dagger entering his heart. Holly didn’t stop though, she just pushed.

“And if you’re not going to take this seriously, then maybe you should go back to your junkie boyfriend and stop wasting our time.”

Mila stopped her quiet strumming, and Sara stopped her giggling. Holly instantly went pale, realizing what she’d said. It was a line no one crossed.

Across the room, in the kitchen, Serik calmly slipped off the stool where he’d been watching the little show, and exited with a slam of the screen door.

“Yuri, pumpkin, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” Holly started, but Yuri cut her off.

“Shut up,” He murmured, sitting down again and averting his eyes. “Let’s go again.”

“Yuri -”

“I said let’s go again.”

The sharp finality of it struck as loud as the larsen effect, like the first crack sent up a lake of ice.

Like a mirror of illusion shattering.

Before anyone could say anything else, Yuri started counting off the beat of the next song.

There was an anger in the way he played, something he had never known before. He wanted to yell, to scream, to jump over the kit and knock his best friend to the ground and punch her in the face.

He didn’t, at least not then.

They practiced nonstop for another two hours, and Yuri takes the phrase _leave it onstage_ a little too literally for a practice session.

When he left, slamming through the screen door, his sticks had been split in half.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter title: The last show 
> 
> Don't worry, next chapter is by far not the last. If anything, it's about to get a lot more lit after this, as the kids say. I'm sorry i'm so inconsistent with updates, but you know, life. Also, I'm writing this story at another part mentally so to be here plot wise is frustrating to get through (if that makes sense) so yeah any kind of encouragement really does mean the world to me. Also, I really wanted to write an additional scene from this chapter from Serik's point of view, but also wanted to include some other things so would anyone be opposed to a side chapter from Serik's point of view?? I might do that over on tumblr if anyone asks for it. Just let me know there. 
> 
> Anyways, thank you in advance to everyone who will read and support this latest chapter. Please be kind. Love you all anyway. 
> 
> PS - Not to self-promo too much but i have something coming out later this month and I really hope you all look out for it and give it some love because it's super different from anything i've done yet.


	7. The last show

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well folks, we are officially at the halfway point! I haven't put that final number up because I didn't want to limit myself, but now it just feels right. It feels like a halfway point in the story, and I know from here things are going to really be different from what has been happening so far. This chapter was originally supposed to end on a darker note / cliff hanger, but I just didn't want to do that. The next seven chapters will probably be a bit longer as i have given myself this cap, but I don't think anyone will mind that! 
> 
> I want to again say thank you to all of the people who support me each update and between updates when I'm writing this and other things and also trying to be a real human. Thank you for putting up with my nonexistant upload schedule and never pressuring me. I am so incredibly lucky to have the little bunch of you. I hope you stick around for the rest of the story.

They were in the red zone.

It was a week to the last show. A week before they returned home to record the album. The way Otabek had been talking about it lately, it seemed like The Album should be a proper noun by now.

Yuri didn’t know where he was all of the time. He would wake in the middle of the night, reach out across the landscape of sheets, and find him gone. It was getting bad again, the New York feeling creeping all the way across state lines and slipping under a Minnesota motel door. Otabek wasn’t supposed to make him feel like that, like he was on his own.

When he had Otabek’s attention, though, he was able to distract both of them.

  
At the first sound of screaming in the hallway, they didn’t stop, their panting breath barely paused. It was only when they recognized the voices that hands moved to still Yuri’s hips, gently pushed him away. Deflated, he moved to sit on the edge of the bed and pull his underwear up from where it had been discarded on the floor. He watched over his shoulder as Otabek got up from the bed, pushed his ripped jeans up to rest around his hips.

“It’s ours,” He murmured from behind the door while looking out the peephole. ‘Ours’ referring to their problem, their friends. Holly and Jarrod, who wore their problems on neon pins affixed to their jackets, rather than hiding them under the hemline.

“Should we go out there?”

Yuri rolled his eyes and pulled on a pair of cut-off denim shorts, and pushed past his boyfriend into the spotlight of the hallway.

He narrowly missed a flying combat boot, hot pink.

“I can’t stay here anymore,” Holly was yelling, the black roots of her hair had been growing out and made her bright blue hair look like the tips of flames.

Jarrod was trying to hide the fact that he’d been crying, his chin turned up pridefully in a way that seemed so foreign to Yuri, but his eyes were rimmed red. 

Yuri stepped between them, as if to stop Holly from leaving and guard Jarrod from her at the same time.

“You can’t leave now, not so close to the last show.”

Holly finally looked at him, her eyes wide as a child’s. Something had to have happened, Yuri had missed something. He wanted to ask, wanted to pull her aside into their private world and talk to her the way they used to. He tried to remember the last time they’d been that close, when the connection between them didn’t feel so jagged and fragile. It wasn’t just that way with only Holly anymore. Something had shifted between all of them.

Was this what being on the brink of greatness was supposed to feel like?

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice wrecked. It wasn’t directed to Jarrod, or to Otabek as he stood in the door frame. It was for Yuri, and it didn’t seem nearly enough.

When she pushed past to leave with her bags in hand, Jarrod didn’t try to stop her. Yuri looked at Otabek, his chest heaving and his eyes begging. For what? For him to stop Holly? They all knew that wasn’t going to happen.

Instead he watched in a suspended state of awe as Otabek tore his eyes away, walking forward to put an arm over Jarrod’s shoulder.

“Let’s go get a drink.”

Yuri calmly walked back into the room and slammed the door.

Hours later, when the water had run cold and his tears had long since drained away too, Otabek came back. He picked Yuri up out of the tub and turned off the shower, carrying him naked and half asleep back to bed. Yuri didn’t ask where he had been, and Otabek only whispered against his collarbone before falling asleep.

“I’m so sorry this is how it is, Yura.”

 

In the morning, Otabek was gone again.

Yuri woke up to the smell of fried potatoes, which could only mean one thing.

“Why are you always eating?” he grumbled from under his pillow.

Weight fell on the end of the bed, Serik bouncing a little to announce his arrival, “I’m a growing boy, I need my vegetables.”

Yuri groaned, but stuck a hand out for fries regardless.

Mornings were easy. It was harder to remember the monsters from the night before in the light of day, even though the nagging feeling that he’d been abandoned once again picked at him like a stray needle. He put on a new shirt (one that wasn’t covered in snot and dried tears) and tied his hair up.

They put on the TV so that they didn’t have to talk, and when the food was gone they finally decided to give it some effort.

The promise to paint Yuri’s nails had gone unfulfilled, so Serik was happy to step in and do it. For the right foot, Serik carefully applied the red polish with such concentration that the pink tip of his tongue peeked out from between his lips. They kept the conversation light and easy to follow. For the left foot, their words took a different road.

“Our sister’s birthday just passed.”

Yuri tried to remember where they were that night, what they had been doing. How high they were. Otabek had remembered to call, he thought. He was sure that’s who had been singing the lullaby to that night.

He let his chin rest in his hand, watched how Serik was using painstakingly small strokes of the tiny brush so that he didn’t get any paint on Yuri’s skin.

“If you miss them, why don’t you visit?”

It wasn’t a question that Serik missed his family, that was obvious in the gentle way he spoke about them. It mirrored the way Otabek sounded when he talked to them on the phone. Their words would slip into a more comfortable and private vocabulary, one that belonged to them and their family. Yuri loved to listen to Otabek and Serik hold the phone between them, their wide twin smiles at the sound of Isha, their little sister, singing.

Serik looked up at him at the sound of the question. His expression was soft and Yuri was not met with the filtered expression Otabek seemed to get whenever Yuri asked him about them.

“Because I know he won’t come with me. Why would I only give them half of an answered prayer?”

He wore a strange half-smile, one that must have run in the family, and looked back down to what he’d been doing. Yuri understood it, but he couldn’t relate to the feeling. He knew Otabek loved his family, and they loved him. How could you love someone but be so afraid of them?

Maybe the answer could be explained with the same reason he hadn’t called to check on Holly, to see if she was safe, even though he was worried.  

“Prayers can’t save him, and neither can we.”

Red paint hit his skin, and Serik grumbled at the sight of his error. Yuri licked the tip of his thumb and wiped it away the best he could. They were quiet for awhile, and the laugh track on the TV was too loud.

“Can you do mine in the same color?” Serik asked quietly when he had finished Yuri’s toes, holding out the bottle and his hands.

Yuri nodded and ruffled his messy waves until Serik laughed and ducked away from his touch.

With as much care as was given to him, Yuri started painting Serik’s nails red. When he was painting his left pinky, he gave his own quiet admission.

“I’m so sorry this is how it is, Serik.”

 

The metal door slid open, but Yuri didn’t stop singing.

Otabek didn’t disturb him, but sat on the mattress across from where the setup was, unlacing his boots and watching.

The red zone was not a fun place to be alone, so Yuri was both surprised and incredibly grateful to see Otabek was settling in with him.

Mila and Sara had left an hour ago, tired and hanging on each other, so it was just Yuri and the track and an open mic.

They were so close to home now, just a van ride away. Yuri had never been to Malibu before, but the girls had friends there who had taken them in for free all week, even letting them use the converted garage as a rehearsal space. Yuri hadn’t really left for more than a few hours. It wasn’t strictly that he was nervous. Of course, he was a little bit. To do something he had never done in front of one of their biggest crowds, on the last night of tour, anyone would be nervous. Well, anyone but Otabek. If he was, he didn’t let Yuri see it, but that had been the case so often lately it was hard to tell the difference.

Yuri sang with his eyes closed most of the time. He didn’t know if he would do it onstage, but Otabek’s eyes were a distraction. Something about the way they were staring him down, lined black and hungry. It was jarring. Even after years, he wasn’t used to being someone who could be looked at that way.

Otabek didn’t clap or anything ridiculous when he stopped singing, but he opened his arms. Yuri took the invitation without question, collapsing down on the mattress next to him.

He let his blonde hair fall loose around him, and tracked his gaze as the familiar body loomed over him. There was a desperation in him, a need that was seeking to be satisfied. They didn’t need to talk about it, because Yuri wanted it too. Sometimes the best they could give to each other was familiar distraction.

Yuri pulled him in for a kiss, and from there it was muscle memory.

He opened up for Otabek routinely, spreading his knees apart to accommodate him on the bed. He kissed selfishly, pawing at clothes and teasing just to get things going the way they used to, the way it had always been.

He put two fingers in his mouth and looked up with blue-green doe eyes, like it would keep things from ever changing. Like he was still and forever eighteen and Otabek hadn’t weathered such a long winter.

When Yuri sunk down on top of him, biting his lip and going still for a moment, he felt Otabek tuck back his hair behind his ear. He lingered, cradling Yuri’s face in his hand. It was too gentle, clashed too much with the noise in his head, it pulled Yuri out of the moment.

He moved the hand down to wrap lightly around his neck, and finally started to move his hips.

In the quiet after, Otabek put on their playlist.

Yuri savored the affection now, welcomed it. It had been like sinking into a tub with water too hot, but now that they’d made their mess it was bearable.

The fingers in his hair, the look of their legs tangled together, it all added up to bliss. He traced over the parts of Otabek where ink covered skin, and then when those lines proved to be too familiar, he drew his own invisible designs. He would do anything to touch him longer, feel him still there.

He listened to the beating of his heart under his ear like it would be the next chart topping hit.

“I’m proud of you, Yura.”

He wasn’t ready to be intimate aloud, so he smirked like it was a joke and made it one.

“For riding you so good?” A teasing dance of fingers over skin before Otabek intercepted, linking their fingers together.

He brought Yuri’s hand up to his mouth, kissed each knuckle with his eyes closed like he was holding a flower and not a half-formed fist.

“For coming into your own,” he said.

He didn’t know how true that was. He didn’t know how to be someone out from the shadows, in the spotlight. That had always been Otabek’s place, except for when they were alone together.

No one else had ever seen Yuri in the way Otabek did, especially not himself.

“I miss home,” He admitted. That was the most honest thing he’d said in a while. Yuri didn’t have to ask to know that he didn’t mean the home where he was born, the one he wore on his shoulders. He missed their home, the one that was only for them. Yuri tried his best to cheer him up. They only had one more show to get through.

“Remember when we first got together and spent that whole week at my place?”

It seemed to work, as he smiled slightly.

“It was practically a new bed peace. . . I loved the stars above us, I loved that window seat.”

He talked about Yuri’s bedroom like it was another world. It might as well have been. He had never fully unpacked, it was just easier when they were wandering so much. They hadn’t had time to fall asleep under artificial stars in a long time.

“You loved _me_ so quick, it was disgusting,” he joked, but it was a silent agreement. They’d both fallen into it faster than expected.

A deeper quiet fell, and Yuri knew they were going to sleep there. It was fine, a mattress on the floor wasn’t the worst he’d had by far.

“Say we’ll go back there,” he whispered into the night. He thought maybe it would help them, to go back to the start. Something about that felt so right.

He waited for Otabek to say they would, but they were both asleep before the promise made it out.

 

Yuri was going to puke.

He was actually going to toss his cookies right onto the front row, and he’d had a cherry slushie with those cookies so it was going to be exceptionally disgusting. Damn Serik and his sweet tooth. He was such a liar, sugar did nothing to calm his nerves. He was craving something a lot stronger, but he figured being high on stage wasn't a good look. Not even Otabek did that, and he had done everything.

“Performance anxiety is a new look for you,” Jarrod goaded from the sofa, his hair dyed a fresh shade of pink. If Holly’s latest abandonment was affecting him, he wasn’t letting it show outwardly, at least not until you really looked at his eyes. From the start, Yuri never really related to Jarrod. He liked him well enough, but never really understood him. Years of gigging and living together and he still wasn’t totally sure he did. Being the survivors of Holly’s storms seemed to be their only commonality. That and the love of the Altins.

“Sit and spin,” Yuri murmured, sticking two very well-meaning gestures back towards the bassist’s direction.

Behind him, Otabek kissed the nape of his neck, his hands still working the tension out of Yuri’s shoulders.

“Relax baby,” he was murmuring into Yuri’s ear, trying to calm him, “you’ve been rehearsing and practicing more than any of us.”

Yuri knew he’d worked hard to be show-ready in such a time crunch, but the preparation did nothing to soothe him. There were people out there who had been going to their shows for months, even years. People who knew Yuri, would recognize him the moment he got onstage.

He imagined that’s when the whispers would start, one person telling another, “isn’t that the singer’s little boyfriend?”

_What does he think he’s doing?_

_He thinks he can just go up there and sing?_

_What is he wearing?_

_He looks like a fool._

He played the imaginary voices in his mind over and over, and slowly something moved through his veins. He wasn’t going to be afraid when he went out there. He was done hiding backstage, done with people not knowing his name.

After tonight, they would all know his fucking name.

When he went onstage to open, to sing the songs he’d had hidden in his journals all this time, he was going to be angry. More than that, he was going to light the stage on fire.

And anyone who had anything to say about it would be trapped by the flames.

 

It was a white hot blur.

Five songs and seventeen minutes, but it felt like only one. He didn’t have control over the way his body moved, the wild toss of his hair around him. He didn’t care if the words were reaching the audience — he could barely control the way they were rushing out in full color, after being confined to black ink on paper for so long.

When he was out there the anxiety he’d had before took the backseat. The spotlight felt like sunlight, and he finally understood what Otabek and every other stupid boy with stars in their eyes meant. Being onstage and letting it all go, it was more than a release of energy, more than performance, more than a high.

It was life touching a live wire.

When it was over, Yuri could only hear static noise, white and empty. He could see a blur of people still writhing in the front row, but he couldn’t hear anything. He couldn’t hear Mila at his side, telling him about something she’d never seen before.

He couldn’t hear, see, feel anything. After all that rush he was suspended. He was stuck in place, and then all at once he realized what was missing. He turned his head to search, to grasp the lifeline he knew was waiting.

He found him, watching from the sidelines. It was bizarre for them, but it didn’t feel wrong.

His brown eyes held that knowing, mischievous glint. There was no difference over time — they were the same eyes that had found him across the crowd at the party on the night they met. The same eyes that had held his gaze all of this time.

He hadn’t been thinking of Otabek when he was onstage, he hadn’t been thinking at all. He was only feeling, and the two of them could be found entangled somewhere in that.

It was only when he met those familiar eyes and stared back, watched the slow pull of his lip into a proud half-smile, that the sound crashed back against him like waves.

They were screaming for him.

It took a blink or two, but finally his eyes cleared. He could see them now, the crowd. Dozens upon dozens of people, and some of them even knew his name. His name was his own again when they were calling it, for once he was not “Otabek’s Yuri.”

It was over again with a flustered and surprised thanks from Sara, and a loving push from Mila. Even as his feet began to move and he was walking out of the line of sight, he could still hear them.

They wanted more, and he wanted to give them more. After years of watching, studying the way others did it, he was finally awake.

Even after just one hit, he knew he could do it better than anyone he’d seen before.

 

Otabek touched him carefully, like the meeting of their fingertips would produce sparks.

“You were amazing, Yura,” was the first thing he said. He tried to say something else, something technical and constructive, but Yuri pulled him in close. He pressed their foreheads together, their panting breath mixing. Yuri knew he was a mess, his hair damp with sweat that dripped down his neck, his makeup a beautifully smudged mess.

Otabek was still clean with his shirt unripped and his hair teased tall. He would be dirty and keyed up like Yuri soon enough. Some things were always pure, though.

“I love you,”

It was the first thing he could think to say. With the emotional release he’d just gone through, it felt like the right thing. He only wanted Otabek to hear it.

“Of course you do,” Otabek had closed his eyes. He was holding him there, pressed to the wall together. People were moving around them and sound still raged on. They only had a few more seconds before it was Otabek’s turn.

“I love you more, no matter what.”

He didn’t have the time to think about it. He was busy being kissed in a way that was too soft for a rock show, counting seven perfect breaths between them before Otabek was unlacing his fingers from golden hair and taking the mic that was pressed between them, still gripped in Yuri’s fist.

The show went on, and it was Yuri’s turn to stand by the sides. The crowd never stopped moving, dancing, screaming. It had never felt so confronting before, so alive.

It might have been the last show, but there was something new starting. Yuri could feel it, the change of the tide. He didn’t have a name for it yet, or a song.

All he knew was that after what he’d just done, this was never going to be the same as before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter's title: Falling


	8. Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, here it is! The big boy. If it were possible, i would call this chapter “chapter 7 part two” because really this and chapter 7 are the biggest chapters, it was kinda surreal writing this because it’s like, wow, everything is finally happening and it’s all fitting into place better than i originally thought. I know there will be so many questions at the end of this, and i’m terrified, but hopeful it won’t be too negative of a reaction.

  
  


The mirror looked back at him. 

He was watching his own reflection with hazy, half-closed eyes. He touched his fingers to where his lipstick had smudged, up to where the gentle skin around his eyes had been clouded by smoke. 

He looked like he’d been through hell. He’d spent years under Otabek’s wing, at his side but still always under him. There had always been a third person in between them, invisible but too powerful for Yuri to name regardless. 

He couldn’t deny he’d just gotten a taste of it, but he didn’t find it in white lines or the bottom of a bottle the way Otabek did. He’d found it out there, his words releasing from inside him like a banshee. They’d been hiding there for years, behind his ribs and in the corners of his eyes. Now they were freeing themselves, and maybe that was the feeling he would learn to cling to. Become addicted to. 

Now, in the backstage dressing room with makeup streaking his sweating face, he looked at himself in the square mirror. He recognized who he saw looking back at him, and he smiled.

  
  


Yuri wiped his face fresh and pulled on a pair of leggings, letting his skirt fall to his ankles. He folded it lovingly, packing it into his bag to wash when they made it home. No more quarter washing machines every week. There would be more than that, coffee in the mornings and familiar windows with familiar, never-changing views.

Yuri pulled one of Otabek’s hoodies out of the bag  and over him, comforted by the scent. 

He could hear him too, still onstage. He made slow work of packing up his things before he would rejoin them, sneaking out of the side hall to get to the bar area easier. Mila had said she would be waiting there for him, and he knew Georgi would be there as well. 

On his way, he passed the side stage, where he could peek at the rapture. 

He saw Serik first, his curls seeming to drip with sweat as his arms swung and his head thrashed  to the beat. He could see Jarrod’s pink hair, bright and defiant. He was shredding, his back leaning up against Otabek, who was leaning back on him while he sang.  

Yuri didn’t see two brothers onstage, he saw three. 

Maybe Jarrod wasn’t their brother by blood, but he’d been there more than their real brother had. He was in New York, cold and distant. Holly was there too. It was the last show, and Yuri would be lying if he said he hadn’t secretly hoped she would be there to see them off. To see him. 

Brushing the thoughts off, he hoisted the bag over his shoulder and dropped it off just outside the door in the van, which was already being loaded with some of their gear, like Mila’s axe. 

They’d never had roadies before, they’d been their own roadies. That was already changing, and Yuri eyed one of them suspiciously when they made a comment about removing the mattress in the back. That wasn’t going to happen, where would they sleep otherwise?

As if making its presence known, the shiny new black bus’ engine rumbled and purred behind him. He gave one look to it, as if he was staring down an enemy, then pulled his hood over his blonde hair as it whipped in the wind. It calmed, and he turned to go back inside. 

He snuck his way around the stage in the hidden hall and came out through the staff bathroom, walking quickly past the line of girls to get to the bar. 

Mila was already celebrating and pushed a drink into his hand as soon as he sat down. He took a sip and swiveled in his seat, then almost spilled his drink when Georgi slid onto the seat next to him and put an arm around him without permission. He was caught with a strong, chemical smell of hairspray and knock off cologne.

“Yuri, that was phenomenal,” he said by way of greeting, “I always knew you had something up your sleeve, you just needed the drive to prove it. I’m so glad I could give you that opportunity.” 

Mila furrowed her brow in suspicion. She had been around the business side of things, and it hadn’t taken long for her to catch on to the way Georgi operated. “You didn’t even do anything,” she muttered under her breath and then sipped at her vodka soda. 

Yuri smirked, letting Georgi’s words perch on his shoulders. They were like costume jewelry, not worth much but still pretty. Yuri let him babble on while he sipped his liquor like juice. 

That was until he started talking albums. 

The beginnings of a record deal began quick and fast right there, Mila almost bursting with excitement while Yuri stayed skeptically optimistic. It was georgi’s big idea, to have their EP released in joint with the boys’ full album. It sounded so genius, Yuri almost couldn’t believe it was coming from their fly-by-night agent. With the timing, it also sounded just crazy enough to work. Besides, Yuri knew all about striking when the iron was hot. 

They wrote their band name for the first time right there on a bar napkin,  _ The Red Angels _ . 

  
  
  


After the show, Otabek could tell he would lose his voice for a few days. It wasn’t ideal, since they would be jumping into the studio within a week of being home. Still, there was some time to come down from the post-tour high. 

Besides, he didn’t need to talk when his mouth was already occupied.

Yuri was used to being pressed up against the van or a brick wall outside the venue, but the too smooth, cool surface of the tour bus was a new experience. 

It started out as a ‘finally done with tour’ kiss but quickly escalated to pale legs wrapped around Otabek’s hips, his boots crossed over at the ankles. A preview to what they would be able to do later, to christen the tour bus when they were alone. 

However, just when Otabek was teasingly biting down into the plump pink of Yuri’s lower lip, and Yuri was considering what that would feel like with a piercing in, they were interrupted. 

“H-hi, sorry,” the kid stumbled over the two words like they were each connected to question marks that had their feet out. “You’re Yuri, right? Yuri Plisetsky?” 

_ What the fuck _ ? 

“What the fuck?” Yuri asked aloud, his boots scuffing against the pavement as Otabek set him down. 

“I’m sorry,” the kid, skinnier than Yuri and in the kind of jeans and made a show of that and a neon pink fishnet top, muttered again. “It’s just, this is the first time I’ve seen you perform and –“ 

Otabek cut him off with a gentle uplifted hand, his other moving to wrap proudly around Yuri’s shoulders. “It’s the first time anyone’s seen him perform, besides me and the band.” 

The kid’s eyes widened in surprise and excitement, and Yuri shot Otabek a look when he started babbling on excitedly about how he had been sneaking into shows for months. Otabek just smiled faintly and actually listened, sporting just a curve of his lip. 

“I always saw you at the gigs and you always looked so confident, so. . . Of yourself? If that even makes sense,” 

Yuri nodded curtly and put his hand into Otabek’s front pants pocket, feeling around. If the company watching them was shocked by it, it only showed in a brief falter in his eyes. The blonde found what he was looking for and flipped open the top of the pack, taking one cigarette out between his lips, along with the lighter that lived alongside it. He lit up and took a drag, then extended the pack out. 

“You want one?” He said towards the kid as he exhaled. 

The kid was so young and so innocent, but he dressed in a way that was desperate to prove that wrong. Yuri recognized it like it was graffitied on the brick wall behind them. He knitted his brow and shook his head almost hesitantly. 

“No, I don’t...” He wandered off, unfinished. “Isn’t that bad for your voice?” 

Yuri stuck his hand back in his boyfriend’s pants, replacing the pack. “I already sang for the night, didn’t I?” 

Otabek placed a chord-calloused hand on the small of his back, under the hoodie that belonged to him. 

The boy continued on, and Yuri let him do it as long as Otabek was there beside him. He even bit back a genuine smile when the boy asked if Yuri would sign an autograph and pointed down to his old pink boots. He handed the cigarette over to Otabek and held the kid’s ankle, signing a signature he’d never practiced, but seemed fitting. 

They were thanked a little too profusely, and then left alone as the boy scurried back to the noise inside. 

Otabek let his hand fall, and he took a drag. “You’re going to have to be nicer to them, the  _ fans _ .”

Yuri rolled his eyes and took the cigarette from between his lips, letting it fall to the ground and crushing it out under his own boot. 

“You should stop buying that shit,” He murmured, lacing their fingers together, “they say it’ll kill you.” 

The sound of Otabek’s laugh was buried in Yuri’s blonde hair where he pressed a kiss. 

  
  
  
  


At the van, Otabek climbed in the back and jumped over the front seat, taking Serik by such surprise that he audibly squeaked. They began to talk loudly and fast the way that brothers did in their mother’s language. 

Yuri wanted to join them, but he saw Jarrod standing alone a few feet away, looking up at the moon. It cast down blue light on his cheek. Yuri remembered a few days ago when he thought he had seen him there by the pool, alone like that on the edge of the diving board. 

“Hey Jar, got a minute?” Yuri asked as he approached, his boots on the pavement already announcing his presence. Jarrod looked his way and put on a smile. It disturbed them both. 

Yuri wasn’t in the mood to play around, as he rarely was. “Have you heard from Holly?” 

It was a hopeless question, because if he had he would have told Otabek, and yuri would have been able to get it out of him easily. Jarrod rubbed his palm over the buzz of his pink hair and down to the fade on his neck. He flipped his board, but Yuri was quick to catch it and snatch it away, raising a brow in challenge. Jarrod made an annoyed noise and looked away from him, back to the moon, “She’s busy pretending I don’t exist.” 

Yuri rolled his eyes. “You don’t buy that bullshit.”

“It’s the truth,” He said, but he doesn’t sound as confident as he always has. It used to be such an easy equation. They would fight, break up, and then inevitably get back together. It wasn’t any different this time, so Yuri didn’t understand why Jarrod was being so hopeless about it all. 

“She doesn’t want me in her story anymore.” 

At that, Yuri drops the skateboard to the ground and kicks it so that it rolls towards the general vicinity of the open van. “So what? You’re just going to give up? Let her write you out like that?”

Jarrod’s head snaps to look at him, harsh and offended. He speaks slowly, clearly. 

“It wasn’t my choice, Yuri. And after all this shit she’s put me through, I pretty sure giving up is my only choice.” 

Yuri stepped closer, standing taller. He still had to look up to catch Jarrod’s eyes. 

“But you love her,” he countered, like a punch to the jaw. “Nothing she did should matter if that’s the truth, and we both know it is.” 

He didn’t know why he was fighting Jarrod on this and not just letting it be. It wasn’t as if being right would make her come back, not this time. 

Jarrod’s eyes flicked away from him, for just a moment, and looked towards the van. The back doors were open, and two pairs of feet hung out, one pair swinging. He looked back to Yuri, and the smile from earlier, the carefree one that had always been Jarrod’s natural state, was as gone as Holly was. 

“Funny,” he murmured, “the truths you choose to see.” 

Yuri narrowed his eyes and formulated a quick jab as a comeback, but Jarrod was walking away. 

“Where the fuck are you going?” He called out. 

Jarrod didn’t look back when he answered. “Taking the bus with the girls. When we get back to the bay, I’m moving out. I’ll tell them they can have her old room.” 

_ Her _ old room? Holly and Jarrod had shared the attic bedroom, even when they were so mad at each other she put tape on the floor and divided it in half. It wasn’t just  _ her _ room, like Yuri’s house wasn’t just  _ his _ house. To be a family meant that some things belonged to everyone. Apparently Jarrod was writing himself out of that part of the story too. 

He was gone before Yuri had a chance to protest. 

“Yura, are you coming or not?” Otabek called from the driver’s side window. 

They had one last ride in that worthless old van before everything was going to be different. It was one thing Yuri could hold onto, the long drive back home. 

He ran across the parking lot like they would really leave without him, and closed the doors safely behind him. He took a moment to breathe before climbing into the front seat, plopping down between the two Altin brothers. He put on a smirk. 

“So, I’m picking the music this time, right?” 

  
  
  


It took a few days to get readjusted with the high from the tour still in the air. Yuri didn’t want Otabek to waste any of their free time on anything he didn’t know about, so the only way to make sure that didn’t happen was to keep him in sight and busy. 

They christened the tour bus, as promised. They reaquainted themselves with their futon in the basement, and spent a whole day in Otabek’s bed with the little TV on to offset their script. 

Now that he was back to stalk all his old haunts and call up dealers he knew as friends, Otabek had replenished his stash and Yuri was helping him dwindle it back down. At least, he let Otabek think he was. He had his own stash, stolen and flushed or sold back. Yuri didn’t think about it too much, he kept himself just as busy. 

Before they had to start recording, Yuri could tell the nerves were getting to Otabek. He could feel it in him, so Yuri took him back to the start. 

Otabek carried Yuri on his back as they went up the steps to his house. It was old, and a family house in spite of itself. Yuri didn’t know who Holly’s old uncle was who had died and left the house to her. He also didn’t know why she’d given it to him when he had called her on a prepaid flip phone all those years ago, the tears hot and evident in his voice. All he had said was he needed a change of scene, and she’d given him a home. 

He had no way of knowing what the house would bring him. He kissed the nape of Otabek’s neck, tongue poking out to tease the petal of the lotus flower tattooed there. 

The keys jingled as Otabek found the right one for the lock, and Yuri hopped down, his feet hitting the old bricks. He reached around Otabek’s waist, down between his hips until he found another outline he liked. 

“That for me?” He asked quietly, watching the way Otabek’s hand stilled for a moment. He pressed harder, watching behind his boyfriend’s shoulder as he seemed suddenly incapable of turning a key. 

“Right here, Yuri?” He challenged evenly, his voice not showing his emotion the way it did onstage. “You’d like that wouldn’t you, angel?” 

_ You would like it too _ , he thought, using his other hand to sneak under the thin fabric of Otabek’s shirt.

“You like it now, when people watch you,” he added softly, but Yuri heard it. 

It was no secret that since returning, Yuri had gotten a little attention on the internet. Turned out that kid outside the venue whose boot he’d signed had written a blog post about it, and included pictures and video of Yuri’s performance. He cringed to watch himself on stage like that, took mental notes on ways to improve, but apparently it meant a lot to some people. Otabek had certainly taken note. 

_ Yuri’s boyfriend is really hot but super quiet offstage _ , the post had said. It hadn’t mentioned much else of the last show after the opener. 

“Open the door Otabek, before I give them something to talk about.” 

  
  
  


Georgi decided to call when Yuri was on his knees. 

At first, Yuri just looked up and made his eyes wider, batted his pale eyelashes. He’d learned just how to swipe his tongue, how to tighten his grip just a little. He used to be able to make him stay like that.

Otabek pushed him off by the grip that his fist had in that yellow hair but seemed like he really regretted it. He gave Yuri a pointed look as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, as if to say  _ later _ , or hopefully,  _ soon. _

He walked out the bedroom and shut the door, and Yuri flopped onto his back with a frustrated groan. He stared up at the fake stars on his ceiling, waiting for night to fall so that they could glow.

Yuri didn’t want to wait. 

He pushed his dress up and left it to wrinkle on his chest. Underneath he was bare, having taken his black spandex shorts off earlier but leaving the fishnets to hold him. The waistband was kissing his belly button. 

With gentle fingers, he touched himself through the crossing fabric. He liked the way it looked, his cock trapped there. He pressed the pad of his thumb against the head, let the rest of fingers spread apart. He was a little lazy with it, just enough to keep him ready. 

He focused on the feeling, not the seconds. He didn’t count the moments Otabek was away, didn’t think about how he might leave, how it might not have been Georgi on the phone after all. He let his toes curl and pull at the sheets.

Closing his eyes makes it easier, and that’s how Otabek finds him. 

“You always start without me, Yura.” 

He doesn’t look, he just reaches his hands out. There’s a soft laugh and a clink of a belt, the sound of layers shedding. Then his hands are on Yuri’s ankles, pushing his legs apart to fit between them. 

Yuri can feel his hair being pushed back, and then his face cradled, and Otabek kisses him they’re both fifteen and don’t really know how. 

Otabek murmured against him, “I’m going to finish an album for you, angel.”

He smirked, and wrapped his legs around Otabek to lock him in. He wasn’t going to leave this bed, he wouldn’t be able to. They grind against each other with more practiced ease than the effort it takes to keep on kissing, so Yuri just groans against his lip instead. When Otabek let his hands snake down to reach between them to rip Yuri’s cheap fishnets, right in the place they needed to be ripped, it earned a whimper.

“Finish me first.” 

Otabek was leaning over him, and he slowed the movement of his hips. He reached around to take one of Yuri’s hands in his own. 

“How many times?” He challenged, bringing Yuri’s slim fingers up to touch his lips. He’s barely gotten his voice back, and he sounds like a man dying of thirst. It’s not far from the truth. 

Yuri opened his eyes with little effort, biting into his own lip as the pads of his fingers pressed down onto Otabek’s. He slid one finger between slightly parted lips, reveling in the wet slide. 

“The first time, just like this, hard.”

Yuri loved when he had control. It was so rare that he did, but their bed was immune to all other insanities, mostly. 

He pushed in a second finger, watching the way it slid in next to the first, “The second time in your lap, until the sun goes down. Yeah, that slow.” 

Otabek made a moan like it would be the sweetest torture he’d ever had, but the sound was muffled by Yuri’s fingers in his mouth. 

Yuri sighed airly and watched the way Otabek closed his eyes, and slipped the fingers deeper into his mouth until his lips were pressed against two of Yuri’s knuckles.

“Yeah, we’ll start with that,” He murmured, “then we’ll see if you can keep up with me after.” 

It was such a bluff, they would be lucky to make it through one good round without falling asleep right after, they were both still stage-battered. Yuri’s knees were still purple, and it wasn’t from Otabek’s treatment of him.

Yuri thought distractedly as Otabek finally pulled away mournfully to get the lube that it wasn’t the first time he’d had to lie to him to keep him inside, sober. 

  
  
  
  


Just like Yuri hoped, they made it to starlight. The real ones were visible through the window, but the fake ones shined faithfully above them. He was groggy and still half asleep, but he felt Otabek moving. It was muscle memory to wrap around him, pull him closer. 

“Don’t leave,” he murmured. “Don’t leave like her.” 

Otabek let himself be pulled, and he pulled too. “Which one?” He asked quietly, his hand smoothing down the curve of his back. It was familiar as a lullaby. “Your mom or Holly?” 

Yuri didn’t give him an answer, but the way he arranged himself to be practically on top of Otabek, caging him in, was answer enough. 

  
  
  


Two days later, Otabek’s voice was back and so was his leg twitch. He hadn’t had a hit in those two days, Yuri had been watching. Yuri watches it as they sit in the van, then in too-white offices. 

The recording studio is an entirely new beast. It’s easy to see from the first glance that they’ve tried their hardest to make everything artificially comfortable, so as to forget the music they make is bound to a company until they decide they’re done with them. By the way Georgi looks at them now, it’s only the beginning. Everyone is wide-eyed and smiling too much, and they greet each of them like they already know them.

There’s other things Yuri picks up on that he’s sure is contributing to Otabek’s restlessness. He never really  _ got _ the whole internet thing, but apparently the last show isn’t just being remembered that way. 

It was being remembered as Yuri’s first show. The video had earned half a million views. Otabek wasn’t one for numbers, but he noticed the same things Yuri did. For example, when the intern walked in one night to ask if they wanted coffee, she asked Yuri first. 

He’d given a handful of autographs since then, and he was getting calls for an interview here, a photoshoot there. Otabek, and the rest of them for that matter, were noticeably absent from the requests. Yuri had turned some of them down, but he couldn’t help but wonder. 

_ What does anyone even see in me? _

  
  
  
  
  


It was safe to say that recording didn’t go well right away. The people at the studio were alwys slightly unnerving, but mostly, Georgi just yelled at them a lot and had to sit down with his assistant in his lap so that he could “stay present”. 

Otabek wasn’t feeling good about it, not like he did with the shows. He was tense all the time, but Yuri could really feel it when he touched him. Never when it was Otabek touching him, but on the rare and quiet times it was reversed. 

One night, when he was losing his voice for the second time and Yuri had made him drink hot tea and honey, he’d asked for more. He wanted to be laid down, so Yuri took care of it. They’d set a good pace, but their eyes weren’t together. 

“Don’t close up on me,” he murmured, watching the way his long blonde hair swished softly, back and forth, against Otabek’s chest when he moved. 

“You’re already inside me,” he replied, tightening his grip on Yuri’s hands where they were interlocked above his head. “How could I be closing up on you?” 

Yuri looked away from him, but he didn’t stop.

Later, he thinks maybe he should have. 

  
  
  
  
  


Parties didn’t solve any of their problems or push their deadlines any further, but they were inevitable. 

Yuri got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach when he walked into the house that night, and it wasn’t just from the pungent smell of weed in the air. He knew right away that finding Jarrod was a lost cause, if he was physically there then mentally was another story. Yuri didn’t bother looking for him. He just hoped he’d find Otabek before he got too rowdy. 

It hadn’t always been like that. There used to be after show parties all the time when they were local, but Otabek was always a bad host. In those days, things with Yuri were fresh and too good to pass up, even if they railed a few lines together afterward. Back then, they’d wander upstairs two hours in and dance and carry on, making a show for everyone like they were still on stage. Back then, Yuri knew the people who were at the house by name, even if Otabek had to whisper it to him. Back then, everyone was eager to talk to him if it meant they were getting closer to the band, and they all knew Yuri had an in with the lead singer. Maybe they weren’t aware of how much, but Yuri always made that clear. 

Now, Yuri didn’t see any familiar faces when he walked in. There was a beer pong game going on at the kitchen table like it was fucking frat house. That should have been the first sign something shitty would happen. He could feel the muscles in his face shift, and he knew he was wearing that expression that let everyone know exactly who he was. 

Still, the reaction surprised him. People turned to look at him, taking in his crushed velvet mini dress and his knee-high chunky combat boots. Space buns had never looked so lethal. 

He pushed past a line of girls in the kitchen that were a mixed bag of expressions; ranging from disgust to jealousy to sheer entertainment as they snapped a candid picture that would surely make its rounds on the blogs by morning. Yuri even posed for another one, this time with two fingers up. It only made the girl taking the picture smile. 

He was either a relatable figure of young rebellion, or he was a joke. The lines blurred on which one it was. 

When he finds Otabek he’s in the basement, but he’s not alone waiting for Yuri. He’s with people that Yuri wishes they didn’t know by name, and he has a needle in his arm. 

He has a few words with the boys and gets them to leave, looking a little but more pitiful than the prideful and glazed smiles they’d had when Yuri first stomped down the stairs. He doesn’t really blame them, they’re just sellers. To them, Otabek is funding their next meal, or more likely their rent.

“Hey angel,” Otabek murmured, his voice a low and cool slur. Ironically, he almost sounded southern when he was that high. 

Yuri sat on his lap to anchor him to the futon and clean him up. 

“What the fuck are you going to say if Serik found this shit?” He grumbled as he discarded of the evidence into his backpack to throw away later, or possibly burn. “What would you do if he found you like this?” 

Otabek didn’t answer, he could barely form words.

For a while Yuri just laid with him, watching him fade in and out. He could hear the music upstairs, and for once he didn’t want to join them. 

“Are you upset with me?” Otabek asked cautiously. 

Yuri didn’t say anything, just kissed his neck softly and counted out his heartbeats. He tried to imagine a world where Otabek didn’t need anything else but this, Yuri tucked against his side. It was almost impossible, because no matter how close they were, there was always that third invisible person between them.

Sometimes, like then, Yuri wished Otabek was mean to him the way some of his others had been. It would be so much easier to be less in love with him if he knocked Yuri around or called him something other than ‘angel’ and ‘tiger’ and ‘baby’. It was hard to hate anyone who called him baby, really. 

After a while, he managed to get him upstairs and even that was a long journey. When he suggested they have a few drinks and reclaim the night, burn it clean, Yuri couldn’t protest. A little bit of forgetting was in order. 

 

That night ended with them both in the bathroom. Otabek was in the tub, half-clothed and sitting in a low pool of cool water. Yuri was sitting next to him on the floor outside of the tub, keeping an eye on him. 

Otabek’s right wrist was perched on the edge, the tally mark tattoo on his wrist blurred in Yuri’s vision. Wordlessly, he reached out and interlaced their fingers. 

They fell asleep just like that. 

  
  
  


The next day’s recording ended with Otabek throwing his mic at the plexiglass separating the two sides of the booth, aimed at Georgi’s head. 

It doesn’t take more than a week for Georgi to realize he wasn’t going to get through to Otabek so he went for the next best thing. 

“I’m sorry I had to pull you in here,” He told Yuri, sipping unenthusiastically at his black coffee. He wasn’t sorry. “I know you three are working hard, and that’s exactly where we want you to be.” 

It was true. Yuri was exhausted, he’d had two photoshoots and interviews for independent rock editorials in the past seventy two hours, not to mention twelve hours of recording or being somewhere around the studio, needed. He was the one who needed a damn coffee. 

“Unfortunately, the boys are not holding up their side of things,” he said, pausing to sip as if anything he said after would be more value. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed.” 

“Serik has been playing his heart out, on top of working with the studio musicians. It’s important to them that he’s really the one doing drums on this,” he defended, “And Jarrod, I know he’s been late a few times, but he’s going through some stuff.” 

Yuri didn’t know what, but he also knew Georgi didn’t care. 

“You know I’m not talking about them, Yuri.” 

He sighed, leaning back against the wall. He pulled the leather jacket tighter around himself as if he could be swallowed into the dark, whole. 

“I don’t know what you think I can do about it.” 

Georgi looked surprised at that, his eyebrows raising to create wrinkles on his forehead. He would have botox soon to fix that, probably. 

“You don’t have to do anything about it,” he said, and he didn’t get up from his chair, but wheeled closer so that no one else in the room - sound techs and assistants that didn’t know anything but their coffee orders - would hear unless they were eavesdropping. No one really cares enough to.

“I’m just telling you, he’s getting closer to twenty seven and he’s getting worse. By the way things are going now, I don’t know how we’re going to get this album done on time. He’s got the spark, all of you do, but he can’t come into the booth every day and need a line every few hours. He should have gotten that out of his system on tour.” 

That day, it was Yuri’s turn to throw things at Georgi, only there was no plexiglass to separate them. The killer part is that he knows. If there’s truth to something Georgi’s said, then shit really has hit the fan. 

  
  
  


Otabek was back at the real family house, and so Yuri went there. He found Serik in the driveway, shooting baskets. He smiled to himself, remembering the day the first met. It had started right there, when Serik said he was cool and Jarrod didn’t know what to think of him. He figured Otabek had already made up his mind though, at least partly. 

“He’s in his room,” Serik supplied as he went past, “says he has a headache.” 

When he gets to the room, Yuri can hear a familiar song playing. He can almost picture them, cuddled together in the beginning. 

_ What is this _ ? He had asked as the vinyl spun. 

_ Cigarettes after sex.  _ Otabek had answered. 

_ Obviously _ . _ I meant the band.  _

_ That’s what the band is called _ . 

It had seemed like the funniest thing then, but now the slow sound of it, the memory and the music, just made Yuri ache.

Inside, everything was dark. The blinds were down and the lights were off, and only a candle reflected that there was any life at all. Otabek was laying face down on the bed, unmoving. 

Yuri took off his boots and his ripped up jeans and lifted the corner of the blanket. Otabek put an arm out, letting him in under his wing. 

He knew right away what kind of headache it was. It was a comedown headache, surely, but also one that came from thinking too much. It used to be so easy, the stream of consciousness flowing between them like water. Lately though, Otabek was a lot quieter, and he’d been getting a lot of headaches.

For a while, it was enough to just lay there together. They listened to the soft whirr of the fan, the crackle of the wooden wick. The room smelled like vanilla, but it wasn’t as sweet as it should be. They didn’t move, except for the gentle way Yuri ran his fingers through jet black hair, the pads of his fingers occasionally pressing down against the skin as they stroked through, pushing out the pain.  

Otabek didn’t ask how the rest of his time at the studio went, he didn’t check in to see how Yuri was feeling about anything. 

“We should fuck,” he said instead, muffled into the pillow.

Yuri moved his hand out his hair, and let it fall down to Otabek’s back. He rubbed small circles there, something that had always been done to comfort him. Otabek needed it more. 

“No,” he murmured, “you’re tired. I’m tired, we should sleep. Just stay with me, like this.”

Otabek nodded once, knowing that Yuri was right. But he went on anyway, maybe just to see what It could mean. 

“And if I asked you to hurt me,” he continued as he turned his head to face him, the breath he let out ticking Yuri’s lips as they lay so close together, “Would you do that for me?” 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

Yuri sighed and closed his eyes. He could feel burning behind them. “Because I love you, and you love me. We don’t hurt each other.” 

There a silent, waiting pause. The candle crackled loudly. 

“Not on purpose.” 

Otabek closed his eyes too. “Not on purpose,” he agreed.  
  


 

Later, when Otabek surely thought Yuri was sleeping, he blew out the candle and wrapped his arms around him. His hands made small circles, repeating what Yuri had done for him. 

“Don’t let me pin these wings, angel.” 

  
  


When Yuri woke up, he didn’t need to reach out or look around the house to know that Otabek was gone. He wrapped the blanket around himself, lingering in the scent. He stood up with it still wrapped around his shoulders and grabbed his notebook, and padded softly into the back yard. 

There wasn’t much out there except a few plants, and most of them had died while they were touring. There was a sun-bleached hammock that was still standing, so Yuri put himself there. It was too warm with the blanket but he kept it around him. 

He wrote so that he didn’t have to think. 

_ Something spinning _

_ Like he’s still joking _

_ I can’t breathe  _

_ Stop me  _

_ Of course I feel stupid _

He repeated that last line over and over, ink slashed into the paper across seven pages. 

And then he closed the notebook, and looked up at the sun.

  
  
  


It was easy to steal the keys from Serik. It was early, the house was still sleeping. 

If anyone was going to find him, it was going to be Yuri. He got dressed quick and left the house quietly, leaving the dew-wet blanket behind on the hammock and donning Otabek’s jacket, which he had so lovingly left behind. 

Yuri could feel the heat of anger building up in his core and crawling its way down his arms. He felt stupid for not seeing it sooner, or at the very least not letting himself see it, but that was over now. If Otabek thought he would get away that easy and just crawl up in a hole somewhere to OD, intentional or not, he had another thing coming. 

Yuri might just kill him before he let that happen. 

It must have looked insane with the way he was driving. The van was old and loud and not made for San Francisco hills, but Yuri managed to speed along in the morning traffic regardless of the challenge. He also didn’t technically have a license, but that was hardly a concern. He had to find Otabek. It was the new song that repeated in his head. The sound of him saying, “don’t let me pin these wings” was the new verse that Yuri wanted to scream away, tear it to pieces. 

When he found Otabek, he was going to let him know very well that it wasn’t his call, Yuri had already made his choice. 

_ If _ he could find him, that was. 

Drug houses didn’t always look how they looked on TV. They weren’t always the most run down houses in the neighborhood, looking almost abandoned with boarded up windows and long settled leaves on the front stoop. Sometimes, they looked just like every other house. 

Yuri leaned on the buzzer until someone came to stop him. He pushed past into the dark, immediately assaulted by the heady smell. It was like every other house. Maybe a couple of years ago, a family had lived there, and they were happy. All of that was far away as Yuri scanned the room. There were dozens of people strewn about, lounging around on old sofas and looking like michelangelo's pieta, but not so holy. Their eyes may have been seeking a savior underneath all the haze. 

He didn’t see Otabek. 

He ignored the questions and made his way around the house, searching every room like he would be able to track his scent. 

By the time he got to the top floor of the third house, he’s exhausted and his eyes are burning with unshed tears. The anger that had warmed him had settled into a cold panic, and he got the feeling that this is what will end him. He’d go through every house in the fucking bay, his insides twisting and puncturing the outside of him with worry. 

He found a familiar face at noon, even if it was one he didn’t want to see. It was one of the girls from the party, Yuri could tell by the way she looked at him with that same alien recognition. She didn’t know him or even like him, but she was fascinated by him. Maybe even a little jealous. He asked her if she had seen the only person he wanted to find, and she looked down at the drink in her cup. Yuri guessed he wasn’t there either. 

He was about to walk away, annoyed at all of his time being wasted, when she muttered a comment under her breath. 

“You did this to him anyway.” 

The anger was back, and this time the flames were licking his hands, calling for them to strike out. 

“What the fuck did you say?” He said through gritted teeth. 

“You did this,” She said, braver now with her blue eyes wide. “I was one of his groupies before you came around, and I know who he was. What I saw at the party, that wasn’t the same kid.” 

To be fair, Yuri didn’t remember much of the party. To hear her say that about Otabek, though, it sounded so strange, like it was a language he didn’t know spoken in his home. 

“You don’t know him, then.” Yuri said, not wanting to waste another moment, and turned to go. 

There was another round waiting. 

“I bet he’s gone off the deep end because of that little show you put on,” she said, leaning on the counter and raising a pierced brow. “Figures. You hook him, use him to get a platform, and then who needs him anymore?” 

_ Who needs him anymore? _

Yuri knows who needs him. He can count off seven people who need him, then expand that to seventeen, and onto seventy. Then seven hundred, screaming the words back to him. 

This girl, who probably hasn’t hurt anyone the way they’ve hurt her, she may not need him anymore. 

She’s right, too. Yuri doesn’t  _ need _ him, not anymore. He has his own words, his own stage. It changed everything between them, and then nothing.

None of it mattered if they didn’t get to do all of it together. None of it mattered if they weren’t side by side. None of it mattered if Yuri didn’t wake up next to him, somewhere. For the first time, Yuri knew that was a possibility. 

He wasted a few seconds to breathe, then slowly stepped forward to the girl until he was uncomfortably close, meeting her eyes. 

“You don’t deserve to know him,” he said quietly, but strong and clear. “And you don’t know a damn thing about me.” 

He walked out of the house with a fragile calmness overtaking him. Then, he saw that the spot where he had left Serik’s beloved van parked was empty. 

He finally let the water overflow. 

  
  


Walking down the street with mascara streaks down the pale of his cheeks was not the look that was going to get him on the cover of  _ Stones _ . 

He was exhausted and he didn’t know where to look anymore. He found the old movie house they’d snuck into one night, when everything was as new as the name that would imprint them for the next three years. 

Yuri let all the broken glass crunch under his shoes, the path of the starbound carpet leading his way throughout the empty building. He knew he wouldn’t find him there, but he’d run out of ideas and wanted to cry in a place that they’d been happy together in. 

He ended up sitting on that same pool table, green with a huge slash down the middle, that Otabek had laid him down on years ago. Back then, he’d told Yuri that the moonlight was turning his hair blue. Now, in the ugly and harsh sunlight, everything just looked like what it really was; abandoned and broken. 

He was still sitting there feeling hopeless when the phone rang. 

It shocked him a little bit, because he had forgotten it was even there. Sure enough, it buzzed and sang in the inner pocket of the leather jacket that Yuri had slipped over his shoulders before leaving the house. Yuri had broken or lost his last three phones, so he just stopped carrying one altogether. Otabek always had his, thick and almost useless except to make calls home to his parents. It figured that he would leave it in the jacket, their jacket, for safekeeping. He hadn’t taken it with him, wherever he was. 

Wearily, he shoved his tears aside and looked at the screen. 

_ E. _

Otabek was really fucking helpful that way. No full name, obviously no picture. Just a letter, but he’d still saved it. Yuri picked it up. 

Immediately, a fresh wave almost hits him and knocks him to the ground. 

“Yuri? I know this is Yuri, no one else would have his phone. Listen to me, I know where he is.” 

The first thing he could think is that they sound so much alike. 

Yuri had never talked to him and had only heard his voice muffled through the phone calls over the years, always quick to end. 

It was Erzhan, Otabek’s older brother. 

“Who is this?” He said anyway, hiding the tears and replacing it with the anger that was now so easy for him to fake, to shield with. 

An exasperated sigh, and the voice continued. He confirmed his identity, and sounded annoyed that he would be mistaken for anyone else, that quiet pride ran through them.

Yuri realized he’d only ever seen childhood pictures of the three brothers together, the only updated ones were in America with Serik. It was easy to forget about the third brother, the real third brother, who lived part of the year in New York. It wasn’t like he’d shown up to any of their east coast gigs. Still, Yuri thought that maybe since they sounded so similar, they probably had the same face. It pained him to think about it.   
  


“Where is he then? I’ve looked everywhere,” he snapped, but the burning at the corners of his eyes told him he was probably giving himself away on the other side of the line. 

There was some shuffling in the background that Yuri could hear, muffling over the receiver so that whatever was being said and done couldn’t be heard. When the voice came back, it was like a tiring hour had passed by, and not moments. 

“He will call you in a moment,” He said, like it wasn’t something what could bring Yuri to his knees. “Where are you?”

Yuri ignored the question, “Let me talk to him, where is he?” 

There was more blocked noise, and the silence was enough for Yuri to hear his heart beating. He can’t think, he can hardly breathe. The mental loop that has taken over his brain repeats over and over,  _ where is he? _

Nothing else matters, Yuri just needs to know he’s safe. 

When a voice comes back, it’s not Erzhan. It’s all too familiar, so much so that Yuri could feel a whole other part of his heart splitting open. 

“Pumpkin, you have to tell us where you are,” Holly said gently. “We need to get you home.” 

His heart and his brain don’t have the time to connect. 

He breathes out, “I’m at the old movie house.”

“Okay,” Holly tells him. “Just stay there, we’ll be there soon.” 

“The van -”

“We know, it’s being handled.” 

The line goes dead, and then Yuri really does sink down off of the pool table, onto his knees.

 

He doesn’t know how to pray the way that Serik does, so that’s not what happens. He just waits, frozen and breaking, until the tone filled the room again. 

When he answers, he knows it is time for their last verse. He knows without asking that Otabek is out of his orbit, and he won’t be able to reach out for his hand anymore, not for a while. He could feel it when he woke up that morning, and it scared him that they were so inexplicably connected. He had so many questions, but he won’t waste their time on them when he’ll have to pull himself together to yell at everyone until he can lose his voice, too.

What he has left of it is dedicated to Otabek. It goes something like this:

“Otabek?”

“Hey tiger.”

A choked back sob, but Yuri soldiers on, “Where are they taking you?” 

The sentence is brief and shattering.    
  
“Malibu, thirty days. Serik convinced me. I’m sorry.” With that, it’s Otabek’s turn to break. 

Yuri didn’t know how, but he knew why. Otabek would never leave him in person. 

It doesn’t matter, and he wished he could hold him and tell him that it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he was alive, and Yuri couldn’t think of the numb beyond that would come after. He couldn’t even begin to comprehend what thirty days without Otabek would look like for him, but it didn’t matter.

“Are you sure you’re ready for that?” 

There’s a bitter laugh, “I don’t think that matters anymore. If I don’t quit, this album, and everything…”  
He can’t go on, but Yuri knows. 

“How am I supposed to do this without you?” 

“You already are.” 

Yuri buried himself further into the carpet, uncaring of the glass around him. 

“Listen Yura, I don’t expect you to be there when I get back. If you leave, I’ll understand, and we can-” 

“Shut up. They’re not going to take me away from you, alright?”

“Alright, angel.” 

In the end, It’s not enough time. Yuri could hear Serik in the background, and the sound of car doors closing. They were probably taking a flight, he could feel the distance growing. 

“Otabek, no matter what, right?” 

“No matter what,” he promised.

The line went dead, and Yuri thinks a part of him goes with it. 

  
  


He managed to get up and walk in a daze to the front of the movie house, and he isn’t sure if it takes minutes or hours for a car that looks blatantly out of place to pull up to the front of the abandoned theatre. 

The back passenger side door opens, and Holly looks at him. She’s wearing a simple blue dress, no makeup, and her black roots are growing out of her blue-flame hair. She looks almost unrecognizable, except for the glow in her cheeks she is trying to tone down for his sake. He can only imagine he looks like a wreck. 

His feet move him forward, somehow. 

“C’mon Yuri, It’s time for both of us to go home.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls be gentle with me, also let me know if there are any goofs. 
> 
> Next chapter title: Little brother. 
> 
> Chapter 9 will be written in part, if not in whole, from Serik's perspective.


	9. Little Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter i am most nervous about because it's the most controversial and the plot expands by like, three times. . . I'm sorry? Also important to note, this chapter shows Serik and Holly's timeline, both partly taking place in parallel time to events in the previous chapter, and then the narrative continues in Holly's part. 
> 
> Alternative titles for this chapter: “Everyone cries and my OCs run this shit” “the irony is that this chapter is called little anything bc it’s long af” "I love Serik with my whole heart but he's Done With This Shit."
> 
> (I have more expanded worries, but spoilers. See the bottom note before commenting x)

**_Part one: Serik._ **

On the night of the party that they didn’t know would be the last one, it was easy for Serik to sneak out. He couldn’t go through the front, so he just locked his bedroom door and jumped out the window, his feet hitting the soft mud a couple of feet below. He closed it back and then slipped his hoodie over the top of his head and put his hands in his pockets and started to walk away.

Things had been weird for Serik Altin lately.

He’d just come off of tour, but he wasn’t celebrating the way that everyone inside the house was. That was never really his style, and he’d seen enough of the ways that it could turn good people into complete jerkoffs to steer clear.

Lately, he’d been praying harder than he usually did, adding in hours at night he usually spent sleeping or playing video games. He didn’t like the answers he got. He knew he was only a kid, but he was also the kid that had to hold it all together. He owed his brother that.

That’s why he had to sneak out of the house that night. Many of the rules of brotherhood between them went unwritten, but one of the invisible rules was definitely that Serik was never to do what he saw Otabek doing, and if he didn’t see it to begin with, even better. He’d grown accustomed over the years to seeing the after effects though. Tonight would be no different, and with Yuri there it would only be double.

He walked away from the pulsing rock music to a more top forties venue, the local arcade. Whenever they were home, it was Serik’s usual haunt. He was a pacifist, but a few rounds of laser tag never hurt anyone.

The truth was, there was really nothing too moral in America. He’d always hated it, and it had always been the flame to which his favorite brother was the moth. Maybe it wasn’t moral to have a favorite sibling when they all shared the same blood, but Serik couldn’t help it. Otabek was his person, and everyone had to have someone.

He walked into the neon comfort and watched as children far younger than him began their habits, begging their parents for more money so they could earn more tickets and get more stuff they wouldn’t care about in two days. That is what separated habit from addiction, how much you cared about the stuff. The kids were learning.

A red vinyl stool at the neon blue bar with rockets and spaceships flickering in the background called to him and he answered it, leaning his elbows on the slick wet counter and letting his posture slag.

At the sound of him sitting down (and the stool did make a sound, crinkling the plastic-feel vinyl) a waitress turned her head. She was stunning, and all at once Serik wasn’t thinking responsibly. Just like the others, he could turn it off when he wanted to. She walked over and asked him what he wanted, and he had to physically restrain himself from answering with something too honest like, ‘the chance to know your name’ or ‘to finish this freaking album’ or even ‘the guarantee that I’m not a useless person and my brother will always walk beside me’.

He didn’t say any of the things running in loops through his mind, thankfully.

“A strawberry milkshake, please.”

The waitress smiled with a curve of her lips, the same way his brother did, like there was amusement in that simple request. He listened to the saturated pop tunneling through the speakers and watched her move around, occasionally bobbing her head along to the beat, the long braids in her hair swaying with her. 

He thanked her when she returned, and was surprised when he watched as she pulled back the swinging door barrier that separated the two worlds they were on and sat down next to him, joining his planet.

“It’s a slow night so I can take a break,” she explained, looking down at the counter like she hadn’t remembered cleaning it five minutes ago. He sipped his milkshake. He hadn’t always been the best at talking to girls, or anyone outside of his family for that matter. He wanted to ask her if she was only talking to him because it was a slow night and she was bored, but he didn’t want to hear a lie. Nice people always lied if it meant making the other person feel better.

When he didn’t say anything right away, the waitress prompted, “You look like you need someone to talk to, kid.”

Kid. He hated when people who couldn’t be that much older than him called him that. He would be eighteen in a few months, and in that time he had seen more than most people. Despite his record, it wasn’t always easy to stay away from temptation, not when everyone around you was giving in.

But Serik had once promised his brother that he wouldn’t end up like him.

He found himself looking away from the waitress, and more talking at his milkshake then at her, “The problem is that even after everything I know he’s done, I still look up to him in so many ways.”

“Who, your dad?”

Serik did turn back to her then and clarified, “ _аға_ , My brother.”

That seemed to pique her interest, because she crossed her legs and put an elbow to rest on the counter like she planned to be there for a while. Serik felt like there should be a chaise to lay back on and a legal pad for her to write on.

“What’s the problem with your brother?”

He almost laughed, because where could he start?

“The problem with my brother is my eldest brother.”

She nodded as if to say  _ah, yes, another brother._

“There’s always been this tension between them, for as long as I can remember. Erzhan, that’s my oldest brother, he’s always been the golden child. I think Otabek resents that he was always treated like the middle child, even before I was around. They were always different, they never really had anything in common. Then I was born, and looking back I wonder how much of myself was shaped by Otabek, because he wanted a friend so bad.”

Serik didn’t know what had gotten into him, but he opened up to the waitress. It was nice to say things to someone and feel that what he was saying was really being heard. That wasn’t usually his experience.

He told her almost everything, but left out the grungier bits that even he didn’t like to think about. Tour life was something sedentary people couldn’t easily understand. Even though he tried to hide it, he could still see her eyes expanding at the wonder of it all, glamorizing it. When he told her about the time he found Otabek passed out behind an amp backstage, the glass in his hand spilled everywhere, he swore she almost smiled.

“I don’t want my brother to die,” he admitted, and it brought everything back to the ground. He could feel the weight of it in his chest, making that sinking feeling run down his spine. It was something he had only said in the silence of his mind, but speaking it out loud gave it power.

“So what are you going to do about it?”

He looked at her again, and her brown eyes were clear. He was seeing this gorgeous girl who’d been listening to him for the past half hour, but it was like the first time we was really seeing her. Her lips had a perfectly curved cupid’s bow, and the nametag on her uniform read Drew.

She was too pretty, he had to look away. He took another sip from the milkshake.

“I don’t think there’s really anything I can do. I’m only seventeen, I’m just a kid.”

“My dad died when I was seven.”

There was that feeling again. Serik instantly felt like a dick, felt stupid for complaining. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t-“

“Don’t be,” she cut off, and bumped her knee with his. It was an accident, but he had to calm his heart down. “It’s just, I really was just a kid. There was nothing I could do about it, there’s no way to stop a bullet. But your brother, what he’s doing, it’s not a bullet. You’re not a kid anymore, not really, and there’s still something you can do about it.”

He found himself nodding, and it only gave her more energy.

“I mean, look outside at the world. You and me are sitting here, and we’re just kids, but does it seem like the adults know what the hell they’re doing?”

Serik smirked, “I think that’s the point, if you’re an adult and know what you’re doing, they take your card away.”

She laughed out loud, the kind that made you smile really big. She had a little gap between her two front teeth, and Serik had never seen something so endearingly flawed. He bit his lip, tried not to blush. It was dark, maybe she wouldn't be able to tell.

“I’m Serik,” he said, realizing he’d left that little bit out of the equation.

“Drew,” she supplied back, and her smile softened. She could totally tell he was blushing.

Overhead, whoever made the playlist for the arcade finally redeemed themselves. It was the opening chords of that famous Nirvana song, the one about deodorant that everyone loved. It wasn’t his favorite but Otabek loved it, and they always sang it at top volume when it came on in the van.

“My brother loves this song.”

Drew took his hand then, and Serik’s heart almost went up his throat at the shock. She was slipping off the stool, pulling him with her. She looked at him mischievously, still holding his hand.

“If I tell you I can get us endless tokens for the arcade, can you promise we don’t have to talk about your brother again tonight?”

_Please don’t let my voice crack, please, please whoever is up there so help me-_

“Sounds cool.”

_Thank you._

So he followed her with their hands still linked, and he left the strawberry milkshake right there on the counter. He didn’t care that he never got to finish it.

 

 

Later, he kind of floated back home on a cloud. That was what all the cheesy teen movies said, anyway.

The crowd was gone for the most part, and even seeing the state of things was having a hard time bringing him down. He wanted to find Otabek, he wanted his brother to be the first person he told.

He found them in the bathroom, passed out. Otabek was in the tub, and Yuri sitting against the wall next to him. Sighing, he went for Yuri first.

“Yuri, c’mon, get up,” he said, shaking him gently.

“Let me sleep, Beka.”

“Wrong Altin,” Serik said, and pulled under Yuri’s arms under he got him standing. He opened his eyes then, and at least recognized him.

“Did he toss it up?” He asked Yuri, looking over at Otabek. His pants were gone, and his shirt was a mess. He figured Otabek had needed to puke, and Yuri had done his best to clean him up, but he was probably just as bad off. Serik had seen this all before.

Yuri just nodded tiredly and moved past, stripping his clothes off as he went down the hall towards their bedroom like a lost ghost in the night.

Serik waited and listened for the creak of the mattress that ensured Yuri had made it there. Sometimes they fell in the hall and never really made it to the bed.

He got some clothes for Otabek and woke him up by taking the showerhead in hand and turning it on over his brother’s face.

He woke up surprised, and then laughed and looked a little embarrassed.

“Yuri went to bed. Come find me in the kitchen when you’re done.”

In the kitchen, he put on a pot of coffee, figuring it would only help. He was feeling too many things to sleep anyway.

It was strange, knowing that one of the best nights of his life ended with him coming home to find his brother passed out in the bathtub.

He sat in Holly’s big papasan chair while he waited, looking out at the stars through the good window. He kept playing the night over and over again on loop in his head, chewing on the sleeve of his hoodie and hiding his smile behind it too.

Otabek brought him out of his daydream when he walked in like a zombie, immediately going for the coffee, another substance straight to the brain. Well, technically caffeine entered the bloodstream first, but still.

“Where did you run away to tonight?”

“The strip club,” he deadpanned.

“Which one?”

When Serik couldn’t even come up with a convincing name, Otabek laughed and walked over, placing his coffee on the table and trying to fit next to him. The bamboo frame protested and Serik laughed and tried to push his brother off, but eventually they settled on the oversized cushion

“You’re smiling too much bub, it’s creeping me out. Where did you really go?”

“The arcade,” he answered honestly, but his smile gave him away. His cheeks were aching from smiling so much, but he just couldn’t stop.

“I met a girl,” he admitted.

The thing was, he met girls all the time. When they were touring, sometimes girls would go up to him, but no one really talked to him for long before Yuri or Otabek inevitably popped up and gave them the look. Usually, Serik appreciated it. He spent most of his time hiding behind a huge drum kit, he wasn’t fond of attention. He’d started behind stage after the shows, because he didn’t want to meet any girls. But this was different.

“What happened?” Otabek asked, hiding his smirk behind his mug as he took another sip.

Serik mumbled into his sleeve, his cheeks heating again. Dammit, why was he so embarrassed about everything?

“What was that?” Otabek pretended his hadn’t heard, but he was grinning fully.

“I said she kissed me!” He said quickly in his first language, as if maybe if it wasn’t in english he would be less giddy. His voice still cracked, and he practically hid under the blanket thrown over the side of the chair. “Just on the cheek, but still.”

Otabek wasn’t going to let him off the hook, but Serik could see how happy he was. He wished it could always be like this, but the truth was that what had happened an hour ago was more of an everyday thing than talking about crushing on a girl.

“We kiss you on the cheek all the time,” Otabek challenged.

“Yeah well, it’s different when it’s a girl. For me, at least,”

“Holly kisses you on the cheek.”

Serik sighed, shoving him again, “Family doesn’t count, obviously.”

Otabek huffed a laugh, “Holly isn’t family, Serik.”

Serik bit his tongue. Maybe not yet, but she might as well be. Otabek hadn’t figured it out yet, but he would soon enough.

Serik changed the subject, “Anyway, I got her number, so we’ll see where it goes.”

He shrugged casually, and Otabek laughed and almost tipped the chair back.

“Okay, whatever you say, cool guy.”

Serik rolled his eyes. He could see Otabek finish his coffee, and soon he would leave to go to bed with Yuri. Serik didn’t know what made him so brave, but he felt like he needed to try.

“So, do you know what we had in common?”

“Youthful innocence?” Otabek joked.

He hung his head, shaking it just slightly. His voice was quieter when he spoke again, careful.

“She was telling me about her dad, he died when she was really young. But before that we uh, we were talking about you, actually. I guess I needed someone to just talk to about. . .all this. I told her that I didn’t want you to like, die.”

It was like all the air went out of the room and they entered a vacuum. This was unknown territory, they didn’t talk about this.

“We’re not talking about this tonight, Serik.”

Otabek started to get up, but Serik stopped him, not giving him the chance to run away.

“Actually we are talking about this,” he said, his voice strong. “I just found you passed out and half-naked, and it’s not the first time.”

Otabek immediately deflected, “You don’t understand, Serik. You’re a good kid, so you would never get mixed up with shit like that, but-“

“So were you,” he said, anger and suppressed emotions rising. “You still are good, Otabek. But you can be a good person and admit you have a problem.”

Otabek didn’t say anything, but he also didn’t immediately deny Serik, so that was a start.

“Look, I know you were mad when you were eighteen, and that’s fine. Everyone is mad when they’re eighteen. I’m only seventeen and I’m freaking pissed right now, because I just met someone I really like but I can’t spend all my time thinking about her because I have to make sure my big brother doesn’t accidentally kill himself.”

He’s cutting deeper than he’s ever dared to, but there’s a certain rush in brutal honesty. He knows now, how Yuri felt when he was singing, and how he felt when he was with Drew earlier. Words that have been trapped inside finally had power when they were spoken aloud.

“Is that why you’re doing all of this, because you want to die? Or are you getting high every night because you forgot how to live without it?”

“No,” Otabek finally spoke, immediate and harsh. “I don’t want to die. You really think I could to that to you, to Yuri?”

“It’s not about us, it’s about you. But if you don’t stop, it’s going to happen. What if you overdose again, and none of us are there to help you?”

Otabek finally looked up at him, his eyes like a wounded animal.

“Yeah, I know about that. You say Holly isn’t family, but from what Yuri’s told me she kept you out of the hospital or worse, more than once. But you forgot about all that so you can push away someone who cares too much, right? Is that the same reason you don’t call mom anymore?”

He was already so deep, might as well take the lowest blow he could think of.

“I just want to know if one day I’m going to have to explain to Isha that she doesn’t have three big brothers anymore.”

That is the knife that strikes the heart clean, and Otabek begs him to stop, his voice now thick with tears. Serik felt guilty, but he didn’t soften. It was the closest he’d ever gotten to Otabek, and he wasn’t going to give up. It just wasn’t an option anymore.

“You think I wanted to be like this?” Otabek finally admitted, his words slow and careful. “I would have stopped a long time ago if I could, or at least not done so fucking much. It started out as just something I thought I had to experience, everyone in a band had something before the shows. I was supposed to stop for you, but that didn’t last long. I tried to stop a hundred times, but I always said it wasn’t going to kill me. Then I tried more, and I needed more and more to get that feeling. When I met Yuri, I thought it would fade out, that I wouldn’t need it anymore. Then we started doing it together, and I fucking hate myself for that. I know he wouldn’t do as much if he wasn’t with me, and that kills me. It fucking kills me.”

Otabek took a shaky breath and wiped his face, then soldiered on.

“I’m not proud of the things I’ve had to do. I’ve stolen money from Jarrod, and he just fucking let me. I sold some shit for a while to pay off what I owed. And the worst thing is that Yuri knows, but he doesn’t want to fight with me because he thinks I’ll leave him if he says anything. I can’t even talk to him anymore, not like we used to. He’s getting more attention from that video than we’ve gotten in two years of working our asses off, and I can’t even be happy for him because I’m so fucked up all the time, and it makes me jealous. Trying to record this album has been hell on me, because every time I write I think the new songs are shit. Every time I go in the booth I think I sound like shit, but it all just comes so naturally to Yuri. And that makes me feel like the worst boyfriend ever, but the only time I can work and not feel bad about it is when I’m high. But it’s not just the coke anymore, and I get too fucked up to even sing. I’m ruining everything in my life, and I can’t stop it.”

Otabek was angry now too, power behind his words. It was no longer Serik confronting him, but Otabek confronting himself, maybe for the first time ever.

“I don’t want to do this anymore, but I can’t stop. Even if I did, I would go into withdrawal, I’d ruin the album, everything that everyone has been working on, everything we worked for. I just want to stop, I just want to be able to create again without it. I want to remember every night with Yuri, and I want to make something we can be proud of. I want to live. But I need help.”

At the admission, serik wrapped his arms around his brother and held him. He let him cry again.

Serik had always been scientifically minded, and something he always liked about being different than Otabek was that he wasn’t totally controlled by his emotions. Lately, he could feel it changing. Maybe that was why everything was so weird. He understood that, hormones and chemicals. Reactions. He knew that every action has an equal and opposite reaction. He knew that if the results were not desirable, then a variable could be changed to make it so. There was a variable there, standing in the way of getting to the next level. There was a variable that was hurting all of them, and if it didn’t change it would kill one or more of them. But there was still time, and he could still change things.

They didn’t talk much more than that, and eventually Otabek calmed down to a sustained state of devastation.

“Don’t worry, I’ve already got a plan,” He said before Otabek went off to bed. It was a lie, because he was just a kid, and he didn’t know what the fuck was the right thing to do. He just knew he had to try.

 

 

The next morning, when Otabek was at the studio (which resulted in a flash of frustrated anger, he later found out), Serik had a phone call to make.

“Hey porkchop,” Holly greeted him in her normal bubblegum tone. He wasn’t surprised that she answered the phone. He’d told her before she left that he’d figured it out. Yuri didn’t know yet, and neither did Otabek. That had been for the best, but that was all about end.

“Hey Holly,” He said back, his fingers trembling but his voice strong. “Can I talk to my brother?”

A second later, and his brother’s low timbre filled the line, “Serik? What’s wrong? Is it Otabek?”

He was a businessman, he only asked so many questions when he actually cared, and that was rare.

“Yeah, Hey Erzhan. You remember when Otabek broke his arm when we were little kids? It’s kind of like that. I need your help.”

 

 

It took about a week to arrange everything. Apparently, breaking a recording contract was a bit of a legal mess, but Erzhan had enough money to help with that. Not to mention the mess of nerves Otabek was turning him into. He kept going back and forth, saying maybe he could quit on his own, he didn’t need to cause so much trouble.

Of course, when he finally decided he was ready, he had to make a show of it. He woke Serik up at the crack of dawn and said he was ready to go, going to get the bag he’d packed and kept in Serik’s closet.

“Did you tell Yuri?” Serik asked. It was something they’d been fighting over, how to tell Yuri.

Otabek just ignored him, and Serik went to shower. That was a mistake, because by the time he got out, Otabek had locked himself in the basement and Yuri had stolen his van keys. He couldn’t even call to tell Yuri what was going on, because Yuri didn’t have a phone.

He called Erzhan in a panic to tell him to send one of his cars over, and get the plane to the bay as soon as possible.

After that, he let seventeen years of anger out on the basement door until Otabek finally opened it. He’d already started the cleanout they’d planned, and Serik’s heart sank.

“Alright,” _you fucking asshole,_  he thought. If he wasn’t already so tired, he might have had the energy to physically fight his brother. “You want one last binge? I’m going to watch you.”

“Serik, no-”

“I’m not leaving you to do this alone. You’re going to do it anyway, why does it matter if i’m here?”

Otabek didn’t answer, but he looked away and did something that Serik hadn’t even seen in movies. There was the variable, lined up in a neat row, classic and white. He’d only ever seen the after effects, the end result. Seeing the process wasn’t any different, but it hardened something inside of him. He would never see his brother quite the same way again.

His nose started to bleed and Serik got him paper towels, holding him on the floor as he started to cry. Serik was too angry to feel sorry for him.

“Where is Yuri?”

“Out looking for you.”

  
That only made him cry harder, and he was done.

Serik looked away from him, and a wall was up between them like there had never been before.

“I hope that when you’re sober, all of this was worth it.”

 

 

It took over an hour for the rental car to get there, and then the ride to the airport was a mess. While they waited for Erzhan’s plane to land, they didn’t talk. Otabek was shaking, more from nerves than anything else. He realized suddenly that he didn’t have his jacket, and that Yuri must have it, with his phone in the pocket. He texts Erzhan to call first, make sure Yuri is okay, and then after a few minutes, finally surrenders his phone. Otabek takes it a little too forcefully, and Serik chalks it up as another thing he’ll hold against him later on. It wasn’t even noon, and it had already been the longest day of Serik’s young life.

In the backseat, Otabek had his head in his hands, the phone pressed between his shoulder and his ear.

“Hey tiger,” He heard his brother say.

 

The phone call only lasted a few minutes because they could see the plane from where they were parked. Otabek had about twenty minutes to say goodbye.

He watched in the rearview as his brother hung up the phone and then promptly fell apart. He crumpled into his grief in an ugly, shameful way, folding himself up on the backseat and burying his face behind his arms. He had only ever seen Otabek cry over physical pain, like the time he was eleven (and Serik was six) and he broke his arm. He’d cried right away, almost shocked that such a thing could happen, even though he had been warned not to climb out on an unsteady branch. When Serik ran over from where he was playing, Otabek tried so hard to push the tears back into his eyes and eventually he just turned away and told Serik to go find Erzhan, because he would know what to do.

Serik didn’t try to comfort Otabek or lie to him, because his worst fears had already come true. He’d never wanted to hurt Yuri, but it was something he had to do. All the things he had admitted to Serik he had to admit to himself. Even if the worst of the worst didn’t happen, it was only a matter of time before Otabek fell all the way down, and Yuri would go with him.

As he waited in silence, listening to his brother tear himself apart in the backseat, he remembered when Yuri had first come into their lives.

He remembered the party and that feeling of being  a part of something for the first time since he’d moved to America. That night was the night that changed everything, and they hadn’t even known it.

He remembered how Otabek went missing after he met Yuri, he didn’t seen his brother for a week. He remembered when they finally emerged, really meeting Yuri for the first time. He was so cool, and no matter what he would always be so cool. To everyone else, Yuri might have seemed untouchable, but not to Otabek.

He remembered the early days, when Otabek was insistent that Yuri wasn’t his boyfriend. He was right, they were something else, something more, even at the start.

Serik thought that they were like a wishbone, two sides with a connection that looked strong, but one side had to be broken in order for it to be lucky.

By the time the plane got to the tarmac, Otabek had pushed his tears back. He knew he would see Erzhan, so he steeled himself. He knew that admitting he needed help to Erzhan was hard for him, almost harder than admitting it to himself. He hadn’t asked for help from Erzhan since that day when he was eleven.

A lot of things could have happened. Erzhan could have gotten off the plane and punched his brother in the face, and it would be more or less justified. Or maybe Otabek would see Holly come off the plane on their brother’s arm and put the pieces together like he had, and use his fist to express his disapproval. Or maybe, worst of all, they would continue their lives pretending the other didn’t exist, and putting Serik in the middle.

Thankfully, blood won out that day.

Holly came down the stairs first, a backpack on like she was going to summer camp. Her roots had grown out so much that she looked like another version of her was coming out, the previous layer shedding away. Serik kind of wished he could do that.

Erzhan emerged after her, and he focused on her to keep from looking at Otabek. When they were all on the ground, it was impossible to avoid.

One look at Otabek and he was taking his hands out of his overcoat pockets, trembling hands moving up to cradle his face. Otabek didn’t pull away, but he flinched. Erzhan slipped effortlessly into their first language, the line that ran through all of them. With the tone of his voice, it wouldn’t be hard for Holly to translate.

“Oh my god, what have you done to yourself?”

They hadn’t seen each other in nearly two years, and Serik wasn’t able to see the drastic difference that disturbed Erzhan so much. Maybe it was more gradual when you lived with it.

Serik watched as Erzhan pulled Otabek into a crushing hug, holding him tight as if he could heal him instantly. It was the same way he’d looked when Otabek had broken is arm, and Erzhan had picked him up and carried him halfway to the house. Otabek had been screaming that he didn’t need to go to the hospital. Today, he wasn’t going to fight it.

Eventually, Erzhan moved on to hug Serik and make sure he knew the plans for once he got there. He welcomed it easily, but half-listened to what his brother was saying. He was looking over his shoulder at the tense exchange between Holly and Otabek.

“Leaving me to clean up your mess again, Altin?”

“That’s rich,” Otabek murmured. “He bought your little act, but I know something more went down. Now you show up on a private plane with my brother, it’s all starting to make a lot of sense.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t waste your remaining brain cells trying to figure out what i’m doing, don’t you have bigger problems? Who you’re leaving behind, for example.”

“I talked to him, and I’d say we’re doing about as well as each other. If I can’t be there, he needs you.”

Serik thought they were stupid to be fighting over what Yuri needed. Hadn’t they realized yet that Yuri was stronger than all of them?

Holly rolled her eyes briefly. “Is this the part where you ask me to take care of him? Where you make me promise I won’t tell him all the gritty details of your stay in the super scary celebrity rehab your brother is paying for so you don’t lose your record deal?”

“Yeah,” Otabek admitted, the dog-fight instinct fading from him. “This is that part. Please, Holly. If it gets bad. . . If it gets worse, he needs to know he can leave.”

“He’s not the one that leaves, remember?”

Otabek sighed, and Erzhan moved to stand next to Holly. He placed a hand on the small of her back, and they all pretended not to notice.

“Just promise me you’ll protect him from the worst of it.”

Holly looked past him, her eyes briefly connecting to Serik’s.

“I hope you get your shit together this time, because this is starting to feel like the same fucking song.”

Otabek pushed past to go into the plane, and Serik gave Holly a quick hug before he moved to follow. Erzhan called out that he would be joining them, but neither of them listened.

 

The flight was just as silent and miserable as the car ride had been. Serik knew that whether he admitted it or not, some part of Otabek was mad at him, mad at everyone, mad at himself. Serik wasn’t exactly throwing a party either. He still kind of wanted to kick Otabek in the face.   
  
Otabek only said one thing the whole flight, and he didn’t even look away from the window to say it.

“You remember when we went home for three weeks before everything happened?”

Before they’d met Yuri, before the party. Yeah, before everything.

“Yeah, that was the last time we saw E.”

“That was the longest I was ever completely clean. I managed to get some coke on the flight back, and I railed it in the bathroom when you were sleeping.”

Serik already knew, but he let Otabek think he was owning up to something. Might as well get used to it now, he’d be doing a lot of that in therapy. He didn’t look up at him, even when Otabek looked at him. He picked at the rip over the knee of his jeans.

“You did a lot of things when you thought people had their eyes closed.”

 

Erzhan had a lamborghini ready to pick them up from the airport to drive them to the center. Okay, so Serik could admit it. His older brothers were both dicks in their own ways.

There was paparazzi outside the gate when they went past them, and Otabek eyed them suspiciously, like he’d just entered the wrong side of the cage at a zoo.

“They probably think you’re famous, a lot of people who have passed through here are.” The driver said.

“Have you ever seen the same person twice?” Serik asked as they continued down the long driveway, palm trees casting shadow stripes.

The driver’s laugh was uncomfortably long and high. He didn’t bother answering.

There was this little fountain in the reception area that kind of made Serik need to pee, and soft pop playing over the speakers that kind of made him want to bash his head against the wall.

Serik didn’t pay much attention, because he didn’t want to remember much of this. He didn’t want to remember the look of defeat and guilt on Otabek’s face. He didn’t want to think about his brother, sick and alone here. He didn’t want to think about what it had taken to get him here. He didn’t want to think about the new weight on his shoulders, the question of if he had done the right thing, and the knowledge that no matter what he could have done, someone would have been hurt.

“And are you admitting yourself to the treatment program willingly?”

At the sound of the question, Serik looked at Otabek. His brother looked back at him.

“Yes,” he said solidly, no wavering or hesitating. That part was for Serik, but he turned back to face the woman at the desk with all the paperwork, and he gave a fake smile. Rockstar smirk, front cover worthy. “Willingly I go into this dark night.”

The goodbyes were quick and needless, because Serik would be close. He would see Otabek as soon as possible, and that was probably for the worst. He looked like shit now, tomorrow was going to be worse. According to his research, even medical withdrawal was still withdrawal. He was going to feel like shit, and then he was going to hate everyone and want to die. Otabek had prepared for that, but Serik didn’t know if he had. How do you prepare to see someone you love in pain, because you convinced them they needed it?

When Otabek turned to go, Serik didn’t watch.

Outside again, he took in lungfuls of fresh air until he was calm enough to get into the backseat of the car that was too expensive, but fit the part.

He was dropped off at an uncomfortably open modern apartment, and the key Erzhan had given him worked. He set his bags down, and immediately went over to the TV and turned it on, the empty and quiet place filling with noise.

He would unpack and cook the best dinner he was able to manage, but he had something else to do first.

His room was easy enough to find, and there was a window that overlooked the ocean.

Everyone else was safe and taken care of. Everyone else had been able to react, but not him. He was just a kid, but he was the one who had to take care of all of it. Everything, absolutely everything, had been placed on his shoulders, and it was finally lifting.

Finally, Serik allowed himself to sit on the floor and bring his knees to his chest as he looked out on the sea.

Instead of praying, Serik finally let himself cry.

 

 

**_Part two: Holly_ **

The pamphlet of aftercare instructions had told her that she would experience mild pain, but Holly wanted to tell whoever wrote it that they didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about.

Mild pain would have been just the cramps and the blood, but there was a different brand of pain that the clinic wasn’t able to warn her about. For someone with a glass heart, hurting others was the worst pain of all.

She’d hurt Jarrod, such a honey-sweet masochist and only for her. She’d hurt Yuri, and that was even more unforgivable. On the flight home when her tears were heavy in her eyes, she thought that maybe if she had told him the truth, he would have been able to help her. Still, she came to the same conclusion over and over.

Yuri had always been a diamond in the rough. He’d been all too eager to let her take center stage, but that was before she found out. After, she stopped drinking right away. She hadn't decided what she wanted to do, but she thought just in case. Besides, they couldn’t even help Otabek keep himself together, so who would care that Holly had gotten herself knocked up?

It was bound to happen, because unlike with Jarrod, when Holly was with him she was even more reckless and unbridled. It was their nature, sleek cars picking her up from the airport at ungodly hours to take her back to his top floor suite, where he’d put her on the floor in his office, the small blinking lights of the city through the huge windows their only witnesses.

No one had known about them for years, not even his brothers. Jarrod knew, but he was going to act like he didn’t as long as she kept up the game. Leave him, go back to him, leave him, go back to him in the city, and repeat.

It wasn’t so complicated in the beginning, when there were other women for him to occupy his time with whenever she went back to California, back to her rose-tinted boy. It wasn’t like she was ever with Jarrod and then fucked another guy, but she always went back to him when she and Jarrod split, so it was pretty regular. When she was gone, his world remained marble white and matte black, but she knew he missed her color.

In the end, she made her decision with a phone call. She thought that if he picked up right away, she would go home.

It didn’t get to the second ring before he was there, saying her name in the way that sent a spark through her.

She held the phone in one hand and stared down at the test in her other. She’s taken a last one, just in case. It was still pink and positive.

He could feel her hesitance, all the way from New York.

“Holly, what’s happened?”

Finally, she said his name too.

“Erzhan, I’m coming home,” she whispered. “And I’m going to need your help.”

 

She was on the sofa in the same position he’d left her three hours ago. She pretended to sleep as he came in, bags settling down on the pristine marble countertop. He took his shoes off and walked over quietly, kneeling by her side and letting her pretend a few moments more, brushing her cheek with the back of his knuckles.

“How are you feeling?” He murmured.

She opened her eyes, and her heart was not responsible for the swoop it made. Still, after all this time and all they’d been through together, she loved the way he looked at her.

She clutched the pillow she was holding onto closer to her chest, “Physically, about as expected.”

He sat down right there on the floor, uncaring if he wrinkled his fine clothes. His eyes were amber brown and never left her.

“Is there anything I can get for you, are you hungry?”

She shook her head but then thought about it, and remembered how secretly amazing of a cook he was and then bit her lip, nodded.

He smirked as if to say I thought so and leaned in to kiss her forehead. Unsatisfied, she reached out a hand from under her blanket and caught his tie, chrome grey and silk. She pulled him back in, and kissed his lips softly, but with just enough intention that he reciprocated.

He’d been so careful and controlled since he’d picked her up from the airport, unsure of where they stood. In the few days before her appointment she’d been nervous and jittery, so his only concern was on calming her.

She watched as he got up and walked away, heading towards the kitchen to start their supper. Reaching under the pillow she had propped up to lay on, she found her phone and checked to see if there was any news.

Serik had texted, saying they were home and he hoped she was recovering well.

They hadn’t needed to tell Serik, he had figured it out when Holly left. If he was still angry with her about how she’d acted in the weeks before their last show, his care for her well-being seemed to overcome it. Besides, Serik was Otabek’s protector, and he had different things to carry on his shoulders.

While she lay there, not helpless but also not willing to move, she listened to Erzhan hum softly to himself. She heard the clatter of pans, the click of the gas fire coming to life, and soon enough the sizzle of heat. She ached, in more ways than one. Things were still slightly off kilter because he couldn’t touch her the way he did before, like it had to be rushed and secret. They were free, and it was something they were getting used to.

Jarrod hadn’t been angry with her, when she’d told him. Maybe that was the problem, Jarrod never got angry enough to fight for anything. Holly loved that about him.

“I don’t care if the baby is his or mine,” he had said, both of their feet soaking in the hotel pool, the artificial light making their legs look distorted and blue from where they sat side-by-side on the edge. “Even if it was his, and you wanted to stay, I would too.”

She couldn’t look at him, so she looked at the water, “You know I don’t want this baby either way.”

“I know, and it’s your choice.”

It wasn’t the only choice she had to make.

When she finally looked at him, the tears were coming out with no plans of stopping. She hated that she had always been so weak when she was with him. At least, that was how she saw it.

“I love him,” she admitted, and it felt so good to say it, like it was finally real when she said it aloud. “It’s only been him for a long time. I have to go home.”

She had given up so much for the endless game, back and forth between life on the road with Jarrod and going home to Erzhan. Part of it was because she felt responsible, because every time she came back, Erzhan asked quietly how Otabek was doing. She told him to call himself, but he never did.

She’d given up too much of herself to be a part of everything.

She’d quit school, and her classmates had gone on to graduate and attend the medical schools they’d worked so hard to get into. What had she been doing? If her role was to nurse the sick, she was doing a fucking terrible job. Otabek was worse than ever when she’d left.

In the end, Jarrod wasn’t angry. He held her on the night she left. He asked her again if she could stay, if Erzhan was really who she wanted. He took her nod seriously, and the air deflated from him like he would never quite get all of it back.

“You know I’ll always have love for you, right?”

“I know,” she had sniffled, crying against his chest.

Before she left, he thanked her for all the times she had helped with Otabek, times that he didn’t remember. Jarrod did, because most times they were the ones driving through the night, pulling Otabek out of the fires of whatever Hell he’d put himself in. That was before he met Yuri. She didn’t expect to ever hear it from Otabek himself, so Jarrod telling her meant everything.

They ended for the last time on good terms, as good as could be expected after the mess she had made. Jarrod sighed as she packed, his tears drying.

“We better put on a show so it looks believable.”

 

After dinner, Erzhan picked her up from the sofa the way he’d been doing for the past two days, carrying her in his arms like he was going to carry her through some kind of threshold.

“You don’t have to carry me like this,” she said as she buried her face against his neck, breathing in the familiar comfort of his cologne, “I’m not your wife.”  

She wasn’t stupid, she knew she would never be the girl he brought home to meet his family. She would never be anyone’s wife. Still, she loved the way he held her like it could be true and it was obvious despite her words.

He carried her to bed anyway.

But even sleeping beside him with his arms wrapped around her couldn’t keep away the nightmares.

 

The worst of them happened a few weeks in, when her body had recovered but her mind was still a wasteland. If she thought about it while she was conscious, she might have never stopped crying. In her dreams though, it wasn’t up to her. In her dreams, Yuri haunted her like a ghost.

She dreamed that they had both died.

It wasn’t right, seeing them like that. The word overdose made it seem like there was ever a right amount, ever just enough that wouldn’t kill them. The truth was that any amount had that power. She woke up screaming, with sobs quickly rushing to meet the hole she’d punched into the night air.

“Shh, you were dreaming Holls, it’s okay,” Erzhan whispered close to her ear. His tired arms went around her without hesitation, keeping her safe and compact while she cried.

“I was supposed protect him,” she sobbed, tangled in the sheets and clutching him like an anchor in storm water.

“And I promised, I promised I would help him.”

Her worst fears had come true, she had let everyone down. She was a selfish, scared girl who only brought pain to herself and everyone who came into her path. She was the storm that she was constantly running from.

At first, his voice was fuzzy, blocked out and pushed away by the noise in her mind. Then slowly, like rain after a hurricane, it slowed down and all she could feel was him holding her, one hand cupping her cheek now, making her look.

Brown eyes, soft and amber. She could focus on that.

“It’s all of our fault, and no one’s,” he was saying, because he was honest. He wasn’t going to lie to make her feel better, “but there is still time.”

He keeps talking and rocking her in his arms, but she doesn’t hear it. When she slept again, the nightmares gave her a free pass.

 

On the morning when it all went to shit, Holly was sitting on the bathroom counter, her legs dangling off the side. She watched Erzhan dress for the day, the way he slicked his hair back and everything about him looked crisp and pristine. He was always completely in control. She was a mess in her stolen t-shirt (from him, way too soft) and a bundle of blue hair piled on top of her head, breaking free of the pins that confined it. She hadn’t put on a inch of makeup while she’d been back home, much less pants. It’d been amazing. She was finally starting to feel like maybe this new reality, hiding out at Erzhan’s until everything worked out, would be fine. She would be fine.

She was fastening his cufflinks and leaning into a kiss when the phone rang. Seeing that it was Serik, she answered without a thought.

She didn’t know it would change everything.

 

A week later, Serik called let them know Otabek had derailed the plans a little bit. That was typical, for Otabek to make it as dramatic as possible. There was no discussion, Erzhan just started packing, and she followed suit.

Erzhan was still on the phone while Holly put her bag in the trunk of the car. They climbed into the backseat and sat thigh to thigh, and finally Erzhan said a weary goodbye to his brother, and hung up. He placed his hand on her thigh as he gave clear directions to the driver to take them to the airport. Even as his voice was steady, his fingers trembled.

As they left Manhattan, Erzhan slowly slumped down in his seat until his head rested in Holly’s lap, and his shoulders began to match the tremble of his fingers. He was crying quietly, and wouldn’t let anyone see, not even her. She remembered how he had held her and whispered to her that everything would be alright, even when she couldn’t hear it. She tried to do the same thing for him, rubbing circles on his back and whispering that they would work everything out.

Before they got to the airport, he stopped and wiped his eyes, then slowly sat back up. His eyes were red and glassy, but there was little other evidence that he’d been crying. He put a hand in Holly’s hair and kissed her chastely, once to say thank you and another, just because.

He reluctantly turned to the window and presses a button to slide the glass down, fishing a pack of marlboros out of his coat pocket.

“How long has it been?” She asked softly as she watched him light up, the taste of nicotine hitting his lips. He sighed on the exhale and blew the smoke out the window, away from her. It was the one thing wrong with him. The only one.

“How long has it been since you cried?” She asked again, curling into his side. He put his arm around her reflexively.

“When I was cutting my first tooth,” he smirked.

She rolled her eyes, but felt a strange sense of comfort. That quiet Altin pride was so familiar.

By the time she was stepping onto the plane, it was an effort not to completely panic. She knew she was flying back to everything she had so easily ran away from. But it was for Otabek, and more importantly, it was for Yuri. She had a lot to make up for. This time, like it or not, she had work to do.

 

Less than seven hours later, Holly found herself in the backseat of another car, with Erzhan in the front driving them away from a neighborhood that had once felt like home. She was holding someone that was crying for the second time that day.

Unlike Erzhan, Yuri didn’t try to conceal what he was feeling. He was sobbing with reckless abandon, in mourning as if someone had died. Maybe that’s what it felt like to him, after all he’d been through. And she had been a part of that.

Helping Yuri was very different from helping Erzhan. It was useless to try to calm him with back rubs and gentle words, being she wasn’t who he needed right now. He needed Otabek, but just as they had gotten off Erzhan’s plane, the other two brothers were boarding. She’d seen Otabek before he got on the plane, eyes rimmed red and strung out. He looked like hell, and seeing him like that had killed a part of Erzhan and Serik both.

He was mean to her, as always, and she bit back. She wasn’t proud of it, but maybe when he was sober he would realize what a dick he was to anyone who he wasn’t fucking and apologize. She knew it would be a long wait.

Yuri needed Otabek, but he was gone. He was in the air, and he was going to a place where Yuri couldn’t reach him. It was the first time they were apart, and Yuri was reacting about as expected.

“You knew, you knew this whole time and you didn’t tell me,” was his first reaction.

Next came the other layers of betrayal, then the denial that Otabek was really gone. By the time they got back to the house Yuri had moved onto anger, part two.

Erzhan and Holly stood outside of the car, standing quietly on guard while Yuri had his breakdown in the backseat. He couldn’t actually rip up the italian leather, but his kicks and screams were making an effort. He was cursing in languages Holly wasn’t even sure he spoke. Eventually things went quiet, and Holly went ahead into the house, facing the dark alone.

There were two girls sitting at her kitchen table, looking concerned and confused in equal measure.

“Is Yuri okay?” the girl with the beautiful dark hair asked, two hands encircling a coffee cup.

“No, he won’t be for a while,” she said, “but give him a few days, and he’ll be ready to work again.”

“What the hell is going on?” The other one, Mila, asked.

Holly realized that if Yuri’s new bandmates lived there, then they must be occupying the attic bedroom. She knew Jarrod wouldn’t have missed Otabek saying goodbye, if he could help it. That meant he was somewhere else, she could feel the difference in the air of the house. A house felt different when parts of the family it belonged to were gone.

Holly tried to explain to the girls what was going on, but naturally they were a little bit shocked. They had only seen the past few weeks and had missed out on the years that had led up to this mess. It wasn’t theirs to get involved with, but Holly only hoped they stayed for Yuri’s sake. He couldn’t take anyone else leaving.

Somehow Erzhan had been able to convince Yuri to get out of the car, because he carried him through the front door a moment later. Yuri made no effort to hold onto his form, just let himself be carried with limp limbs, numb eyes. Even though it was the first time he’d stepped into the house, Erzhan knew where to bring Yuri, and Holly followed silently behind.

She watched as Erzhan set him down on the bed with such gentle care, and immediately Yuri pulled the sheet up into a bundle he could hold onto. He looked at Holly, then back at Erzhan. They were standing side by side, like parents watching a newborn and not wanting to make a sound that might trigger any further tears.

“I know why you’re fucking him,” he stated bluntly, toeing his boots off unsuccessfully until Holly sat down on the edge of the bed and took a hold of his ankles, then got to work on unlacing them. “It’s because he looks like Otabek, and you always wanted him. But he would never touch you, because you were Jarrod’s girl.”

He was fading out, but he was going to rip at every edge he could on the way down. The truth didn’t matter so much as Yuri hurting any way he could on the way down. He wasn’t saying it to hurt Holly, because they both knew it wasn’t true. He was projecting his own insecurities, rubbing the salt of being abandoned into his fresh wounds. The pain was lulling him to sleep better than Otabek’s voice ever had, because in the end, pain was more familiar than love.

“I’m not anyone’s girl,” she murmured, taking Yuri’s boots off and letting them land on the floor. She looked up at Erzhan, the communication between them silent but understood.

_Go, I can handle this._

She knew he would be leaving that night to follow his brothers to Malibu, but they would have time later. First, there were other things to take care of. First she had to take care of Yuri because whether he liked it or not, she saw him as a little brother.

Erzhan nodded and leaned in to kiss her on the forehead, then slowly backed out of the room and closed the door.

“You knew they were taking him,” Yuri accused, pulling his feet away and curling in on himself. Holly sighed and laid down next to him, the smallest space in between them so that she wasn’t pressed against his back to her.

“I just found out this morning,” she started. Not quite true, but Otabek hadn’t been scheduled to leave for another few days.

“So they’d been planning it for a while?”

“No, not really. Just Serik. He had talked to Otabek about a week ago, and he admitted he needed help. This morning, Otabek went on one last binge, and Serik found him before you did. If it wasn’t for Serik, he wouldn’t be getting help, Yuri.”

He stiffened beside her, and it was clear he resented that.

“Of course it was Serik.”

“So that’s what you would pick? If he was still here, he’d probably be OD’ing right now, with all the shit he did this morning, go out in a blaze of glory. Is that what you’d want?”

“Shut up,” He begged and turned over to bury his face in the dip of her neck. She softened, instantly wrapping her arms around him and holding him close, the way that people who needed each other did. “Just shut up for once, Holly.”

So she did, and she just held him, and somewhere along the way, they both fell asleep in tears.

 

She woke up in Erzhan’s arms.

“You don’t have to carry me,” She said again, but he didn’t listen. She briefly looked back to see Yuri fast asleep on the bed before she was carried out the room. He looked deceptively peaceful.

He took her to Serik’s room and helped her change into sweatpants and one of Yuri’s cropped band shirts. He was already changed out of his slacks and tie, wearing a pair of Serik’s joggers that were too small on him. She didn’t have the energy to laugh about it, still half-asleep.

They lay down cramped in the single bed, Erzhan’s feet probably went off the edge but Holly fit snugly between the wall and his chest.

“Are you okay?” He murmured softly, kissing her hairline.

“No,” she replied honestly.

The back of his knuckles stroked a constant path behind her ear, on the nape of her neck.

“Are you going to be okay when I leave tomorrow?”

She nodded, but wrapped her arm around his waist. She knew it was the last time they would see each other for a while, at least as long as they were in Malibu with Otabek. She should want to make it memorable, but she was drained and they were crammed into his little brother’s bed. It wasn’t going to happen.

It was quiet for a few beats before she asked, “E, what were some things you did for Otabek when he was sad? Before he came here, I mean.”

He thought for a moment, his voice tired and husky.

“We sang together, he used to love the Stones.”

“Your parents let you listen to the Rolling Stones?”

He huffed a laugh, and Holly felt warmth spread through her at the comfort of the sound, “Of course not, that’s why he loved them.”

She listened as he went on and on about their childhood adventures together, when they were friends before Serik came around. Otabek probably doesn’t remember those times. Holly listened to it all, carefully filing away the details that Erzhan had only shared with her. She remembered their happy childhood like it could help make up for the one that she and Yuri never really had.  

California, and that house, had never really felt like home. When she was about to fall asleep with Erzhan’s soft words against her temple, it finally did. Maybe it was true that she didn’t belong to anyone, and she was no one’s girl. But her heart had found a home, and it wasn’t in any house.

“Thank you,” he said softly when sleep was close and the stories were done, “for taking care of my family when I couldn’t.”

She opened her eyes to look at him, a sleepy smile on her lips. When he came back to her, her hair would no longer be blue.

“They’re mine, too,” she replied, and watched as he took her hand in his, “I found them all on my own.”

He kissed the back of her hand with the most tender respect, and let it rest there as they fell asleep.

For the first time since she’d left, the nightmares didn’t wake her.

 

She loved the taste of him in the morning, all fresh mint and honey from his tea (he was trying to quit coffee). It was the last time they would see each other for awhile, and the goodbye kisses were as dramatic as could be expected.

It wasn’t difficult to be taller than her, but Erzhan was the tallest of his brothers and had to lean down to kiss her. It took a real effort to leave her, because her arms were strong and she clung to him a little harder than what she would readily admit to. They didn’t separate when they heard Yuri pad into the kitchen, rumpled and still in the clothes he’d worn yesterday.

She teased his tongue with hers, and that made the corner of his lip turn up. His fingers dug into her hip, and she was making a mess of his hair. He’d left everything on the plane, so his hair was soft and undone. She rarely ever saw it like that for long, there were a million little things she still had to know about him.

Eventually Yuri got tired of the affection in front of him and sighed dramatically, tapping his spoon against the side of his coffee cup loudly until they got the point.

“I love you,” he said quietly just for her, though it was clear that Yuri was listening. “When we get back to New York, everything will fall into place, and it’ll be just us.”

She nodded, their foreheads pressed together. One last kiss, and he was straightening himself, smoothing his hair back where she had put her hands in it.

Surprising everyone, he crossed the room to Yuri. Holly felt a little bit guilty when she looked at him, seeing how his face was still streaked with dried mascara tears and his eyes tired from a restless sleep. He didn’t get a goodbye kiss, and it must have hurt seeing them together. It was too soon, the wound too open.

If Erzhan felt bad for Yuri in the same way, he didn’t show it.

“I trust what Serik has told me about you, that you want the best for Otabek.”

Holly didn’t miss the way Yuri’s hand shook at the mention of his name. Erzhan continued with the voice Holly had heard him use with his clients, masked and controlled.

“If you’re going to be a part of this, and I want you to be, then I’m sure you can understand some ground rules. Absolutely no contact with my brother for the next thirty days. He has one good shot, and you are not going to get in the way of that.”

He paused, looking back at her. His face softened for only a moment.

“Holly is going to help you clean out this house, once and for all. Your house too. And if you try to save anything for him -“

“Fuck off,” Yuri cut in, sharp as a razor, but Erzhan paid it no mind.

“I mean anything, and I’ll make sure he can’t contact you ever again and your record deal will be null and void before you finish packing.”

His voice was even and clear, never rising to show his anger though Holly knew he was wound tight. His tone never faltered, even when his next words had Yuri yielding to look away from his gaze, down into the coffee cup.

“I know you love him, but he can’t love any of us until he’s sober. It is not going to be fun from here, it’s going to be damn near impossible. If you want to leave, you have the next thirty days to figure that out. Are we clear?”

Yuri looked back up at him, resilient and prideful the way that Otabek had taught him. Erzhan was so much better at masking it.

He replied back through gritted teeth, “Fucking crystal.”

Erzhan gave a curt, businessman nod.

“Welcome to the family.”

Yuri rolled his eyes and retreated back to his room, and Holly stole another kiss. 

Then he was extracting himself from her arms, and then the house. He drove off, his stone mask still on tight. He would need it over the next few weeks.

Holly watched the car down the road until it disappeared, and then she went to Yuri’s room.

“Alright pumpkin, save all your angst for the album. Right now, we have work to do.”

 

She knew cleaning out the house was too much for Yuri just yet, so she thought that getting him out of the house altogether was best. He showered and got dressed without a fuss. He didn’t bother with any of his usual pageantry, just some concealer under his eyes so he looked a little less dead inside. He wore plain black leggings, and drowned in one of Otabek’s shirts. He left the leather jacket on the bed, and instead donned a hoodie over his still-damp hair.

They walked to the nearest pharmacy and Yuri followed her around the aisles like a dark shadow in all-black.

“You’re changing your hair?” He asked quietly when she was looking through boxes of hair dye, trying to find the one closest to the natural color of her roots.

She replied distractedly, “It’s already growing out, might as well.”

“Is it because he asked you to?”

She stopped, looking him over.

“No, he doesn’t care about my hair. He’s good to me. If you’re looking for a reason to hate him, you’re going to have to try harder than that.”

He pretended to look at the hair dye too, standing close to her so no one eavesdropped on their conservation.

“He thinks he knows what is best, but where has he been the past three years? Does he even know all of the shit you’ve done for us, for… for him?”

Yuri couldn’t even say his name. It was like him being gone made him sacred, or cursed.

“Not even half of it,” Holly laughed softly, not too bitter. If given the choice, she wouldn’t do any of it differently, except for Jarrod. She couldn’t say his name out loud without feeling guilty, either.

Yuri must have been able to read it on her face, because he turned to her, making her look at his wide green eyes.

“Hey, you know I don’t judge you, right?”

She smiled weakly. He didn’t even know the half of it all. She hadn’t told anyone else about the real reason she went home, and it was no one else’s business anyway. More than anything, Holly just wanted everyone’s focus to shift back to where it should have been the whole time. Maybe if someone had done something earlier, they wouldn’t be in this mess now. Then again, maybe not. Despite her feelings, Holly thought that she would always resent Erzhan for not stepping in to help his brother sooner. The saddest part was that he had even more guilt over it. Of course, that was another thing she could never admit to Yuri.

He continued, “I’m just glad the melodrama is over. It is over, right?”

She nodded, “Really, really over.”

He nodded too, the hood he had pulled up bobbing with his head. “Cool. But I still think your new boyfriend is a dick.”

 

Holly did her best to keep Yuri distracted, thinking that would help them get through thirty days. Only thirty mornings and nights, if everything went right. Yuri seemed determined to spend those thirty days letting just about everyone know how pissed off he was.

The first week passed slow. She would only hear from Erzhan during nightly phone calls, and even then it was procedural, a business update more than a personal call. He had put himself back into the role he was most comfortable in, but she could hear the guilt and the worry that weighed down his carefully filtered words.

Yuri kept on crying, more than Holly had ever seen in all of the years she had known him. He hadn’t cried when he got kicked out of his foster homes or when whoever he was getting money from stepped over a line and got a bit too handsy with the merchandise. Back then, he didn’t care.

But he cried for Otabek. He would wake in the middle of the night just to mourn, like a ritual. He had nightmares, too. Holly felt guilty about that hers had stopped. Maybe she had passed them on because she slept next to Yuri each night. She wasn’t Otabek, but when Yuri woke up thinking he was dead, Holly tried her best to reassure him that he was still alive. Half-asleep and delirious, Yuri would ask why he couldn’t talk to him or see him, and Holly regurgitated the same explanation, with the number of days counting down. All that Yuri heard was the answer was no and so the nightmare just continued. Otabek wasn’t dead, but he wasn’t there. What was the difference?

During the daytime, things were easier. Mila and Sara skirted around the corners of a house that wasn’t theirs, like they could tell it was haunted and they were the unsuspecting couple who had moved in. This was the horror movie.

Still, they brought Yuri and Holly to lunch and pretended everything was normal. It felt normal, because Yuri could smirk and laugh like nothing had changed. It was only Holly who could see the subtle things, like when he opened his hand for someone he quickly realized wasn’t there.

Once, they were out and someone recognized Yuri from the video. Holly had seen the video at that point, and she was pretty sure most of the teenagers in the punk scene of the bay area had seen the video as well. Yuri was a new face that people could identify with, and in music that really meant something. That time, it was two girls, one of them with their hair in high space buns like Yuri had always done and the same velvet creepers he used to live in on tour.

They approached the table with nervous, giddy smiles and when Yuri asked them to sit with them the second girl looked genuinely shocked.

Maybe Yuri didn’t like Erzhan, but they had things in common because Holly watched Yuri put on a mask. He talked easily with the girls and signed their shoes and the copy of the zine he’d been interviewed in under some article about New Artists To Watch. New was a bit of an understatement.

He wasn’t cheery by any means, but he indulged the girls enough to keep them interested. He mentioned the band’s upcoming music and avoided any word of Otabek or his current location, and neither of the girls asked. They moved on to chat with Mila and Sara, and Yuri used the distraction as a means to grab Holly’s arm and get them both out of there.

“Crazy, huh?” She prodded as they walked back towards home.

Yuri shrugged, hands in his pockets. He was still rocking the hoodie, even though it looked like shit. It had cigarette burns and splashes of bleach, and was so long it almost fully covered the red hot pants he had on.

He kicked an empty PBR can across the street.

“I never would have wished for anything if it wasn’t for him.”

 

Eventually, they had to clean up the house. Some spots were easy, because drug abusers weren’t exactly subtle. Some of it was harder, because once it got to the addict level, you learned to be sneakier. Otabek had learned a lot over the years.

When they got to the basement, Yuri stood for a long time at the top of the stairs, as if remembering something.

“Can you come down here and help? He had a lot of shit down here,” Holly muttered, hopping on top of the washing machine and reaching behind the back. “Mostly because Serik would never be caught dead doing laundry.”

Eventually, Yuri came down the stairs and started helping. He didn’t say anything, and it was like he had gone numb.

 

After they cleaned the house, the rest of the week seemed to calm down. It was like they’d cleared out all the ghosts, and now the movie could end.

Yuri didn’t wake up in the middle of the night calling out for Otabek, and his tears had stopped altogether. Blindly, Holly thought it was a good sign. He was getting better. She still didn’t leave him alone for long though, just in case.

On Saturday, Yuri helped her dye her hair. They talked while they waited for the color to set in, and when Yuri wandered away she didn’t think much of it.

She also hadn’t heard anything from Erzhan all day until she got a single text around one.

_Otabek is sending flowers, probably best Yuri doesn’t see them._

He was right, and Holly spent most of the day towards the front of the house, listening for the doorbell. By five, she figured the flowers were late and would come the next day, and she thought it was safe to take a shower and wash out the dye. Yuri didn’t join her like he had been doing. It was when she walked out with wet hair and found Yuri’s coffee cup empty and abandoned on the table that she started to worry. She checked their bedroom first, and found it empty except for the mournful shrine on the bed: Otabek’s t-shirts discarded and the sheet that had lost the smell of him wrapped around Yuri’s pillow.

She checked the basement, and then the living room. She even checked Serik’s room before she realized. She walked to the back door, and carefully pressed herself against the back door before pushing it open.

Yuri was lounging in the beach chair, his legs long and hanging off the side. She could see the firepit they’d bought for roasting marshmallows, and her heart sank.

There were so many roses, their stems and thorns crossed together where they were thrown into the pit carelessly, and they were drenched in something wet, the fresh petals wilting under the weight of it all. She watched in stunned silence as Yuri struck a match and watched the flame dance for just a moment before he sent it flying.

The roses were instantly and irrevocably consumed by the fire, and Yuri watched numbly as they burned.

It took Holly fully stepping out of the doorway and letting it close behind her for Yuri to face her, the shadow of the flames dancing across his cheeks. She almost gasped, almost started crying.

Yuri was burning the roses, and he’d cut his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> debated whether i should put this at the top of the chapter or not, but ultimately i think it needs to be said because I have a strong feeling i’m going to get some backlash for this chapter. I really hope I don’t, because so many of you have been amazing and supportive, but here we are. I feel very protective of my original characters but I want to say that they are not perfect, obviously. Their coping mechanisms are different, and some are straight up not good. They are damaged, and they are making the best decisions they can with what they’ve been given. Serik is perfect and has not done anything wrong in his life ever, Erzhan is not a savior by any means, and Holly’s handle on the relationships in her life is super questionable. However, her right to choose is not in the least questionable, and if that is the thing that bothers you after everything else that has happened in this fic, i’m sorry. This chapter reveals and explains a lot of questions that weren’t even asked (bonus points if you go back and find the subtle foreshadowing), and I hope it sheds a light on how much both Yuri and Otabek were blind to things going on around them, and how drug abuse and addiction affects everyone close to that person. I’m anxiously excited to answer any additional questions, but please remember I put a lot of my heart into this silly little fic, so please be considerate. 
> 
> I can promise that next chapter is back to Yuri’s perspective and i’m just going to hope i never get an “I’m worried about otabek” comment after this again lol. The show must go on.


	10. Ashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so.... i was supposed to wait to post this on the 26th because, ya know, date of birth.... but i finished early and i'm only a weakling. But i promise chapter 11 will be ready for the 26th of this month because i'm already a good chunk in. 
> 
> tw; suicidal/harmful thoughts

Otabek sent seventy-seven long-stem red roses to Yuri while he was in Malibu. Yuri set every single one of them on fire except that last one. He counted.

Yuri had been acting a little crazy, and he knew people must have been worried. He just didn’t have the energy to care, or answer any questions.

The most common and the most annoying came from Holly, and it was almost a daily ritual now.

She was watching him from the door frame, and he was standing in their room on the bed, hanging something she couldn’t see from the ceiling.

“Are you okay, Yuri?”

He turned his head, and he had to admit he missed the way his hair used to brush past his shoulder. Now it was chopped short, level to his chin. Only crazy people cut their hair dramatically, and only crazy people would act like he was, so Yuri filled those shoes. He could make it work.

“Yeah, fine,” he answered, and stepped aside to reveal the lucky rose, hanging suspended in the air over their bed. He jumped off the edge of the bed, and pushed past Holly to get to the kitchen.

It had been two full weeks since he’d seen or talked to Otabek. He was only allowed filtered bits of information from Holly, like that his brothers had been allowed to see him and that his physical withdrawals had passed. Useless things. He didn’t get to know what Otabek was saying, or feeling. He didn’t get to know if Otabek was making progress, ticking their little boxes and satisfying their charts.

All he got were roses and a countdown of days.

Yuri was keeping busy, pretending to be busy. He pretended to write, and sometimes he was able to do that so well he actually finished a song. He pretended to listen when Mila and Sara talked to him, though eventually Mila caught on and gave up. He pretended to not notice how slowly the days passed, but every night he crawled out of bed and crossed over to the corner of the room where Otabek had abandoned his acoustic. He carefully turned it over, and carved a new talley mark for each day. He turned it back over when he was done and set it on the stand, and it was like it had never happened.

When he needed to actually not think about anything, he went shopping. He found a disgustingly tacky faux fur coat while thrifting, and he bought it immediately. It was the perfect kind of thing to hide behind.

He was so busy pretending to be fine, the fact that he wasn’t kind of snuck up on him.

 

_Eros_  was an international music magazine, and according to Holly, who had stepped in as his part-time manager, it was a big deal. He had the photoshoot on a Wednesday, and the interview was scheduled for the next day.

On that day, Holly was acting like he was a little kid about to take a big important test or something. She woke him up early and made him a full breakfast with eggs and homemade jam on toast. Yuri nibbled on his turkey bacon but didn’t put much effort into anything besides his toast. It wasn’t that he was nervous for the pictures. More than anything he was nervous about the interview. He didn’t want them to ask, and he didn’t want to talk about it. He could barely talk about it with Holly.

It had been two weeks. Fourteen full days of nothing but roses, nothing but the minimal. Nothing but way too much time to think.

Holly looked older without her blue hair, but then he would call and she looked tiny and fifteen again. He would call her every morning, and sometimes at night but of course Yuri wasn’t going to go to the effort of eavesdropping on that. He only did it for the morning calls, just in case he heard anything. He kind of felt like ua detective, hungry for any sliver of information.

There were times when he wanted to break the rules, of course. It was almost a fantasy, to think about sneaking off to a payphone and somehow figure out how to call Otabek. Just to hear his voice again. The fantasy turned to nightmare when he imagined what he might say to Yuri if he could.

_I hate being sober._

_I want to kill myself if I have to live like this._

_You’re not good for me, I don’t want you in my life._

_You’re not good enough for me._

_I wish I had never met you._

“Yuri?” Holly asked, pulling him out of his thoughts. She was holding her ringing phone, but she was staring at him. He must have been gazing at the black pool of his coffee a little too long. “Are you okay?”

He was so fucking tired of that question.

“Yeah, answer it.”

She hesitated, then picked up with a soft hello, you and Yuri drank his coffee and tried to be fine.

Holly’s half of the conversation went something like this:

“Yeah, and the interview is tomorrow. He says hi.”

Lie.

“Okay, well, I thought it would be nice if he did. But anyway, did you figure out the mystery girl yet?”

The mystery girl, from what Yuri had deduced, was someone that Serik had a crush on. Apparently he’d told Otabek about it, but they were being all coy about it whenever Erzhan was around. Even in the shittiest of situations, it was two to one.

Whatever Erzhan said back, it wasn’t related. He had a lot to say, and Holly face slowly fell from a warm smile to a look of worry.

“Yeah well, we knew group wasn’t going to go well.”

She was saying well a lot. She was nervous, stepping around her words. She was treating Yuri like a kid, and she was talking about Otabek like he was an unruly kid too.

Yuri tried to imagine Otabek in group therapy, and almost laughed. It shouldn’t have been funny, but Yuri could just see him there, arms crossed, giving the bare minimum. He wondered if Otabek talked about him, then felt a bit selfish for thinking of that.

Silent, Holly looked up at him, then looked back down at the table. She pursed her lips and didn’t say much else.

In the end, there was only,

“Okay, love you too. Talk to you tonight.”

Yuri got up from the table abruptly. He had a photoshoot to be ready for, after all.

 

The shoot was crowded from the moment he and Holly stepped on set. People rushed him to hair and makeup, then to wardrobe. He was pushed out in front of the camera like a newborn deer before he knew it.

Naturally, Yuri could pose. If you had killer eyes, they did a lot of the work for you.

He’d come in with his new favorite faux fur coat, and they let him keep it on for the first look, only a pair of black leather studded shorts and his classic fishnets to accompany it. He took their simple directions, the heat of the lights bringing him a familiar comfort. It was like being on stage.

There was music playing from an old boombox that was plugged and nestled against the wall. Music was used to set the tone of the shoot, and the local rock station was providing the soundtrack.

Yuri was just about done with his first look when it happened.

“That was the winter rebels with ‘meet me out back’,” the radio host announced over the final notes of the last song. “Up next we have a debut single from a local band, and if you’ve been on the downtown scene lately you’ve definitely seen them, hard to miss. Their upcoming album has been postponed due to the lead singer needing to take some ‘personal time’. . .”

The radio host laughed softly, as if scoffing at the paper he was reading off of. They all knew what that meant. In music, you didn’t take off ‘personal time’ when you had a kid or when a parent died. ‘Personal issues’ was always rehab.

“Well, we’ve seen this story play out before, real shame. Anyway, here’s Almaty’s Fire with their new single ‘Roses’. . .”

Everything had stopped. Everyone had been looking at Yuri before, but this was different. This was tragedy porn. Everyone knew, and everyone was watching.

He listened as the opening chords started, ones that he could probably play by ear now if he tried. Then the bass, then the drums.

And then him.

His voice again, everywhere, after so long. It was an unexpected assault, and Yuri really couldn’t control what happened next.

He wish he reacted differently. He wished he had just smiled pridefully, if a bit pained, and moved on. He wished that he had done his job. He wished that he had been able to pull off being fine. But that wasn’t what happened.

He walked calmly over to the boombox, and quickly began his own assault. First he kicked, then he took the thing in his hands and smashed it against the brick wall. That made the voice lower unnaturally and turn ugly, unfamiliar. He kept going.  He kneeled down and was smashing it against the floor, and he realized that all that noise must have been him screaming. He didn’t know what he was saying, but it probably would have been censored on the radio.

He kept up the destruction long past the boombox being unplugged by his efforts, and by the time he came out of it he had destroyed it to the point that it would never play music again.

The next thing he heard was a camera flash.

 

“It’s fine pumpkin,” Holly was telling him on the way home. “They’ll just do the interview later, when you’re in a better place.”

Yuri didn’t know where that place would be.

He was starting to consider his options. He had a new fantasy, one where he went off the rails too until they had to ship him off to Malibu too, and then he could be with Otabek again. He thought about it, but he was just so tired.

After the photoshoot disaster, Holly brought him home and let him wallow. He didn’t cry, just put on their records and fell asleep in nothing but Otabek’s jacket.

 

The next morning, Yuri left the bathroom and swore he’d entered the wrong time portal. Holly was in the kitchen cooking lunch (he’d slept in) and Jarrod was sitting at the kitchen table. The only way he knew he hadn’t was because while Jarrod’s hair was still faded pink, Holly’s was no longer electric blue.

“Good morning,” Jarrod greeted easily, slumped in his chair. “Guess what? We’re back together.”

“That’s not funny,” Yuri and Holly said in perfect unison. She looked over her shoulder, grinning. He rolled his eyes and went over to sit on top of the table, swinging his legs and picking the strawberries off Jarrod’s pancakes.

“What are you doing here, Jar? I thought you were back living with your moms.” 

“Oh, I am. Natasha sends her love,” He said, and the way he neglected to mention his other mom said easily that she did not send her love.

It was easy to tell Jarrod had been home for a few weeks. He was cleaner, sleeker. His clothes were new, and he looked like he’d actually been eating something other than pizza and truckstop burritos.

“I’m here to take you out. You need dude time, dude.”

Holly narrowed her eyes, but Jarrod just shrugged.

“You still make the best pancakes, Holls.”

 

Jarrod took him to an older skate park that he used to take Serik to, and as they walked through the front gates and attendants and regulars greeted Jarrod with slaps on the back and familiar palms, Yuri wondered if they’d been there a lot more than he and Otabek knew about.

Yuri didn’t really know how to skateboard, so he mostly just fucked around on solid ground while Jarrod went for the ramps. Just like all good old skate parks, they had drained pool, a bowl ramp.

Apparently, male bonding meant spending about an hour not talking to each other. Yuri was just about to declare Jarrod was wasting his time when he sat down on the edge of the empty pool, resting his board on his lap, and patting the spot next to him while he looked at Yuri.

He kicked the penny board up until it flipped and landed in his waiting hand, then sat down with his legs crossed next to Jarrod. The thing about Jarrod was that you never really knew what was going on his mind, but whatever it was, that was what he was going to say exactly. No filter, no bullshit.

“I wanted to tell you I’m sorry I judged you when we first met.”

Unexpected, but reasonable. Yuri let him continue.

“I thought you were just another blonde bimbo who wanted to fuck the guy in the rock band.”

“And what part of that is a lie?” Yuri smirked, and Jarrod laughed and shoved him playfully.

“You know what I mean, I didn’t think you would be around for long. He never really took anyone seriously before you, he used a lot of people.”

“I don’t think he really knew what he was doing half the time,” Yuri quickly defended. Jarrod gave him a long, hard look. Not necessarily disappointed or like Yuri didn’t know what he was talking about, just a weary look. There were times when Jarrod’s carefree manner stripped away and revealed the old soul underneath.

“Anyway,” Jarrod said, and that quick he was back to his chipper self, “he’s probably doing the best thing for himself now, getting help.”

Yuri didn’t know how to respond, so he just nodded. The rational part of him knew that was true, that it was a great opportunity and so many people never got the chance. But the selfish part of him, the part that was irrevocably tied to Otabek, just wanted to have him there again. He was angry and felt abandoned, and everything that used to tell him he should just give up and run were still there, but he knew how to face those demons now. Nothing was going to tear him away from Otabek, not even himself. He would destroy everything before he let that happen.

He looked over at Jarrod, and realized they probably had more in common now than they ever had before. They’d both lost someone they loved and been cut harshly out of their life with no real closure.

“Do you ever still hear her when she’s not around?”

Jarrod ran a hand over the back of his neck, watching other skaters on the other side of the empty pool. No one was coming near them. Holly Kennedy tended to have that effect on people.

“I used to, when I thought I still had a chance,” he said. “I really did love her, she was my first, you know?”

“Damn,” Yuri murmured. He hadn’t known. It didn’t really make a difference, not anymore.

“I felt it when I lost her, though.” He sighed, like he hadn’t been expecting to talk about her. Maybe he thought he was going to get Yuri to talk about all his feelings, but he’d always been kind of blindly optimistic like that. “It wasn’t, like, she hadn’t been with Erzhan yet. It was before you even moved out here.”

Yuri raised an eyebrow.  Over two years of being faithful to someone who didn’t really love him? He really was a masochist.

“It was one night when we were in the van, Otabek was, well. . . it was another bad night. We were both so tired, and I looked over at her in the passenger seat while at a red light, and I just felt it. I knew I didn’t give anything to her, nothing real at least. You can think you’re giving everything to someone, but where does it go if they’re not in it the same way you are? It just slips away.”

Yuri remembered that night before Otabek left. He was in the dream-like state between sleep and awareness, and he heard Otabek whisper in his ear.

_Don’t let me pin these wings._

He could remember, if he reached inside of the darkest and most hidden part of himself, he could remember Otabek slipping out of the bed. He could remember him leaving. If it wasn’t that night, he could remember all the other times.

“Do you think it’s the same with me and Otabek, and that’s why he left?”

It was hard to ask the question, harder to say Otabek’s name out loud. There was always something on his mind that curled the letters. It had been anger, betrayal, worry, desperation. And love, always love. Somehow, that was still the beginning and the end of everything else.

“No, it couldn’t be more different,” Jarrod answered quickly. He looked at Yuri with sincerity, but Yuri didn’t know if he fully trusted it. That’s why it was killing him that he didn’t get to see Otabek. He wouldn’t know for sure, if they really could make it out of all of this together, until he saw him.

“Yuri, Otabek wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you.”

Yuri quickly cut in, “and Holly, and Serik, and you-“

Jarrod put a hand on his shoulder and Yuri just stared at it, counting his fingers as if he would find an extra one.

“I’m not saying you always did the right thing, in fact there were probably a lot of times you were too scared to do the right thing. But you looked out for him when he was alone, and you loved him through all of his bullshit, so he’s real lucky because not everyone gets that. And you still love him, I can see it in your eyes. That’s a lot more than anyone could ask of you.”

Unconditionally. No matter what, it’s what they had promised. In that moment, Yuri decided to be strong. He was going to need to be strong for Otabek when they met again, and he was going to need to be strong to get himself through this.

“Thanks Jarrod,” he said with hesitance, because he knew he would be pulled into an over-warm hug. Jarrod gave him one good squeeze before letting go.

“When he gets back, everything will work itself out, you’ll see,” he said as they stood up, and Yuri lingered with one foot on the pennyboard. He felt lighter after talking to Jarrod, like somehow the universe would shift and everything would be okay. He used to get that feeling after some quality bong time.

“And hey, no matter how messed up everything is, at least you can’t get pregnant.”

Jarrod said it, and it took all of five seconds for Yuri to connect the dots and Jarrod’s eyes to widen, and his stomach to drop.

“You got Holly pregnant?” Yuri shrieked and pushed his foot down, only it was too far on the front. It took less than five seconds for Yuri to fall on his ass and slide down the side of the drained swimming pool, halfway down the bowl before he skidded to a stop.

He was blinking like a surprised child who’d just fallen after learning how to walk for the first time, and Jarrod is suddenly there and asking if he’s okay. He laughed automatically, like it was on a track. He laughed because he just made a total fool of himself. He laughed because that question -are you okay? - has been the only constant in his life for the past two weeks. He laughed because he realized how much they had missed, how much they were blind to.

Then he realized he wasn’t laughing anymore. It had curled into crying and he found himself in an empty swimming pool, burying his face into Jarrod’s shirt, and just let it go.

 

“You don’t have to carry me like this, I can walk fine.”

Yuri told him, but Jarrod didn’t listen. He was carrying Yuri to the car in his arms, long pale legs swinging uselessly.

“Just let me carry you Yuri,” Jarrod insisted, “it’s what family does.”

 

When he got home, he decided there would only be one way to talk to Holly. They walked together to the old house in silence. It was quiet and settled when Yuri opened the door, the house that was only there when they needed it. Maybe when they were gone for long enough, it went on to exist someplace else, but it was always back in time for Yuri to push the key into the front door’s lock.

In the kitchen, he crawled onto the counter and over the empty sink, then opened the window and pushed the pizza out onto the fire escape. He went out, and Holly followed. She didn’t question why they had gotten a pizza and walked here, or why they were dining on the fire escape.

She hadn’t asked how things had gone with Jarrod, so Yuri brought it up.

“Jarrod let it slip about the baby.”

Holly looked up with wide eyes, half a slice of cheese and mushrooms in her mouth. She finished her bite before setting down the slice and reaching for her water bottle. She didn’t say anything, so Yuri went on.

“Look, it’s fine, it’s your choice, whatever, but you could have told me. I would have been there for you.”

“Really?” Holly said, and her voice wasn’t as soft as everyone was used to. “You would have left the tour, left him to do whatever he wanted without you there, left the only family you know? Would you have done that?”

Now it was Yuri who was quiet. He knew she was right, he never would have left Otabek, not by choice.

“Look, i’m fine,” she said, mirroring his words. “Yeah it sucked, it’s not a fun thing I wanted to happen, but it was for the best. And despite what you think about Erzhan and how he’s handling his brother, he was the only one that was there for me when I needed someone.”

Yuri picked off the mushrooms on his slice and made a little pile in the box for her, a silent peace offering. The defenses in her voice lowered, and she continued softly.

“Your eyes are just starting to open, Yuri. Now that Otabek is away, you can look back and see how much of a wild ride these past couple years have been. I tried my best to take care of you both, I really did. Otabek never thanked me for it, but I was the reason he never fucked up onstage, never blacked out. He was high for most of them, yeah, but he never put on a bad show. I made sure of that.”

Yuri remembered how she would nervously flit around them before shows, and sometimes insist that Otabek eat something or drink some coffee. She would force him to warm up, even if he didn’t want to. With Georgi being more or less useless to them, she was about as close and they’d had to a tour manager.

“I’ve figured it out now, I need both. I love Erzhan and I love being home in New York, but I need to be here too. As hard as it still is, it’s getting better too. All of us, we’ll heal from this and go on. We have to.”

Yuri nodded but didn’t say anything right away. He didn’t feel very healed. There was still this gaping hole inside of him, but even he had to admit that it wasn’t so jagged and raw, set on destroying him from the inside out.

Maybe after all of the denial and destruction and anger, there was only love left. Love, and a loneliness that would persist until they were together again.

“So,” Yuri finally said, a mischievous lilt in his voice, “it took you fucking a billionaire to figure all that out?”

He was joking and Holly knew it, so she smiled and rolled her eyes at the same time, like she was delighted that Yuri was being ridiculous again, because at least he wasn’t sad.

“He’s not a billionaire,” she defended, swatting Yuri away from the last slice. “At least, not yet.”

 

They had a gig.

It was at a venue that Otabek had played a couple times before, but now it was a different name on the marquee.

The girls spent over an hour on his hair and makeup and outfit before the show, and he let them act like it was a big deal and he let them dress him up. He didn’t care, he just wants to be onstage.

Being onstage was the closest he’d gotten to heaven since he last saw Otabek. To feel the rush of the music, to let every emotion flow through him. Onstage, no one thought he was crazy, just a really good performer.

Of course, he needed to sing the song he wrote about the morning he woke up to find Otabek gone. It was the only acoustic song, and he had to sit down on the edge of the stage to keep from breaking down. He didn’t cry, but he sang with his eyes closed for most of it, head bowed. He could feel a rush of cold air as he sang the last words, and he knew that in some way, on some wavelength, Otabek could hear him.

_Of course I feel stupid,_

_For not seeing it sooner_

_But i won’t let you leave me_

_No matter what_

Yuri opened his glassy eyes as his voice faded and scattered applause filled the venue. He almost did cry then, because the small outdoor venue that only fit about two hundred people was aglow in white lights, swaying to the tinkling piano melody Sara was still playing behind him. No one really used lighters anymore and the artificial lights from cell phones were brighter, made a better show.

He was about to get up, move on to another song and maybe assault the mic stand again but it was too precious of a moment not to savor. Then something truly magical happened, and Yuri watched from his place onstage, unable to sing another note, barely able to move.

Slowly, and then building up strong, the crowd began to sing the last line back to him.

_No matter what, no matter what, no matter what._

They didn’t linger after the show, but a few people knew how to follow them. There was really only one club in the area that had a decent live DJ anyway.

The girls wanted to celebrate and spend their fresh cash, but Yuri really just wanted to go home. He didn’t want them to think he wasn’t okay, though, so he went with them and let them order shots for him at the bar. They downed theirs right away and held hands as they moved towards the dance floor, calling him to join them but he waved them off until eventually they gave up and blended into the bodies.

Out of their sight, he passed down the shots to a couple sitting next to him and got a diet coke instead.

“With rum or vodka?” The bartender asked.

“Just coke.”

He got a strange look, but eventually got an ice cold can and a straw. He sipped at it gratefully, and let the music pulse around him until he was brave enough to face it.

Dancing was a different affair than being onstage. While twice as anonymous, no one really touched you onstage unless you reached out for it. In a club, it was inevitable, expected even. By accident or by force, someone would have their hands on you at some point. Yuri accepted this, and didn’t let it bother him as the contact was fleeting, undistracting from how he moved under the lights. He could barely see anyone but he closed his eyes regardless. He let himself get carried away.

He imagined Otabek was there, a dark and safe presence behind him. He thought about what it would feel like, to feel him so familiar against his body like they were an extension of each other. He thought about hands in his hair, lips on his neck, then hands wandering down the valley of his hips.

He’d gotten really adept with his imagination over the last few weeks, because it took him all of seven seconds to realize there were hands moving to wrap around his waist now, and they were real, so they couldn’t be Otabek’s.

For just a moment he let it happen, he let a stranger touch him. He wanted to know if he could chase that rush he felt onstage, that rush that had been ripped away from his life, the one he’d been craving for weeks.

He was almost disappointed he felt nothing.

That was, until anger bubbled up inside him and he turned violently, taking the stranger’s hands off of him and pinning them against his chest. The stranger didn’t pull away, curiously aroused if his eyes were anything to go by. That, or he knew about a little something Otabek used to play with, and he was always so good about sharing. Yuri shook that memory from his mind, times like that were dead.

“Did I say you could fucking touch me?” He yelled over the music, snapping the stranger to attention. He finally pulled his hands away and backed up a step.

“Whatever, bitch.”

He was gone then, and Yuri smirked to himself. That was him, that was his role now. It was a time-honored tradition in music history, and he had all the outfits for it already. The blonde bitch.

 

The girls were staying with friends and when he told them goodbye at the club they gave him this look like he was not invited to the sleepover. He took that easily and made his way home to his fellow recent celibate, but she was on the phone with her boyfriend already.

He was restless. He kinda wanted to jack off, kinda wanted to sit in the tub and stare blankly at the wall, kinda wanted to burn some more shit. Maybe all three.

He ended up on the floor.

He’d played their records and lit candles, but he didn’t have the energy to do anything more than lie on the floor and press buttons on the cassette tape.

Serik’s van was old and still had a cassette player, so they had bought a tape recorder from an antique shop while on tour and made their own mixtapes. A lot of it was just the two of them, Serik and Otabek, shooting the shit. When Erzhan had brought the van back with no explanation of how he’d managed to track it down before whoever stole it could change out the plates, Holly hadn’t asked any questions. Yuri didn’t care, he was just glad the tapes were still there.

He listened to them now, when he was calm and melancholy and not bent on destruction.

There was a whole song about how Serik loved strawberry milkshakes. Otabek would sing,  _he fucking loves strawberry milkshakes so fucking much,_  and Serik would make random loud noises to try and censor him. Yuri could hear himself on the tape, laughing from where he was probably curled beside Otabek.

He pressed stop. Rewind. Play.

Again.

He changed the tape to a mix that was just for him and turned over, lying flat on his back and stared at the ceiling.

_Rockin little angel come down from the sky_

_Come on down from the sky_

_Come on down and stop teasing me_

Otabek’s voice was tired and surrounding, but even on the grainy recording he sounded so sincere. It wasn’t even his song, but in a way, it was their song. One of many.

Yuri’s closed his eyes, let himself imagine him again. It seemed to be the theme of that night. He reached out his own arm, trailed the soft skin with the tips of his own fingers. So gentle, so delicate. One touch could be the end of everything with them, and sometimes it was.

He let himself think it wasn’t his own fingers touching him. He let himself think it was Otabek. It felt so real, he almost opened his eyes in shock.

When he did open his eyes as the tape stopped, he was greatly disappointed to find he was still alone.

He let his eyes wander over the ceiling, landing on the rose. The luckiest rose, and it was dying.

“This is fucking sad,” he sighed. Resigned to it, he turned over on his side, as if they were in bed together and Otabek was beside him, listening.

“Can you follow through on something? Maybe send a sign? Other than, well…”

The rose hung from the ceiling, unmoved.

“I really am going crazy,” he mumbled, rolling back onto his stomach. “Talking to a dead flower.”

Yuri cleaned it all up and changed out of his stage clothes, washed away the makeup until he was pink and small in an oversized sweater. He buried his nose into the collar to inhale the scent and curled up, falling asleep with a pillow behind his back. It wasn’t nearly enough, but he slept.

 

The next morning, Holly got her usual update call. He swore Erzhan had a reminder on his phone. Maybe he had a reminder for everything. Call Holly, 9 AM. Think of Holly fondly, 10:30 AM, Become supreme ruler of my brother’s recovery and update Addiction Spreadsheet and psychoanalysis chart, 11 AM. Insert artificial nutrition chip, 12 PM. Think of Holly fondly part two, 3 PM.

Whatever it was, it was like clockwork.

Only when she answered the phone, he cut the usual sappy bullshit and went into something real, because Holly instantly looked worried. She got up and left the room, cradling her phone and speaking softly.

Yuri sighed, picking at his breakfast half-heartedly before just leaving the house altogether.

He didn’t go far, only to the garage where the van was parked in its now permanent retirement. He climbed on top of the hood, and let the morning sun warm him up. Whatever it was, he wasn’t going to assume the worst. He couldn’t take it as a bad sign.

A few minutes later, Holly came to find him.

“I have some bad news,” she told him as she jumped up to join him on the hood.

Yuri glared at her, “Did your boyfriend’s operating system crash?”

She leaned back on her palms, sighing.

“No, but yours did.”

He almost slipped off the side of the van, but he was done being shocked and clumsy at the same time. He had to get it together.

“What happened to Otabek?”

“That was Serik on the phone, not E. He told me that Otabek stopped talking at group altogether, and he barely talks in his personal sessions. He’s regressing, and now they’re talking about extending his stay. Of course Erzhan almost agreed, but Serik knew why. That’s why he called.”

Yuri wasn’t going to cry,  _he wasn’t_. “What are you saying, Holly?”

“I’m saying that starting tomorrow, he has a week left and he’s self-sabotaging because he can’t see you, and it’s not helping. I’m saying Serik talked to Erzhan and he agreed to send the plane over. There’s still going to be a lot of precaution when you get there, Yuri, because he’s still -“

Whatever she was about to say gets cut off when Yuri launches himself at her, hugging her tight and letting silent tears kiss her shoulder. She smiled softly, cautiously, and wrapped her arms around him.

“I guess I’m saying I should help you pack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this would not happen in real life but *shrug* 
> 
> I can promise if you thought this chapter was sad that it's the last super sad one! I promise there are happy times in the next one and it'll be my b-day so i'm going to make it really good for you guys! 
> 
> I also have finally finished my final outlines, including the last chapter. Up until now, i had no idea how this story would truly end. And now that i do i'm writing a lot faster and i'm having so much fun but i'm already in the process of grieving it, i'm going to miss it so much when i finish it. Anyways, thanks so much for all the amazing support from people who have been reading all the updates, your comments truly mean so much to me because I never would have gotten this far without so much encouragement!


	11. Absolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s my 22nd birthday! Whoop whoop! I’m a bit of a sentimental person so it was important to me to get this (in my opinion, wonderful) chapter out on this day. I have a strong feeling this is going to be a beloved chapter, and there’s a whopping 11k of it to love so i’ll stop rambling and let you get to it x

Everything in Malibu was too white, too bright. There was barely a breeze but Yuri was protecting himself in faux fur and black sunglasses. He kept his hands in his pockets to keep his fingers from shaking. 

He was going to see him. 

It was his only thought on the flight, how just a few weeks ago Otabek had been on another flight in the same plane, looking out at the same view. Only Yuri didn’t know what to expect when he landed. 

What he found was impressive and cold from the outside, artificial. Authentic healing was professionally manufactured in a place like that. 

He was just outside the door now, one step forward and he would catch the sensors for the automatic doors, but he was frozen. Beside him, Holly held his hand.

“I talked to Serik, and you know what to expect,” she reminded him gently. “E told me he was doing well this morning.”

She was lying to make him feel better, and it wasn’t totally unappreciated.

Somehow, he took that first step. 

He didn’t need to walk far. He was stopped at a halfway point between the front doors and the lobby. Officers told them they needed to be patted down and their shoes searched, to ensure they weren’t smuggling in any drugs. 

“Seriously?” He murmured to Holly as they both received a thorough search. 

“You’d be surprised kid,” the officer searching him replied. 

When they finally did manage to get inside the lobby, Erzhan was quick to find them. The memory of meeting him was a bit fuzzy, but Yuri could tell the difference immediately. His button down was untucked, no tie. His pants were wrinkled, and he’d missed a shave. His eyes were where the real story was. He hadn’t slept, at least not well, in days. Seeing his face, low similar they looked, it made him ache and panic all at once. If this was how the one who always had it together looked, then he could only imagine. . . 

Erzhan gave a curt nod of greeting to Yuri, who hadn’t even taken off his sunglasses yet, before he moved to Holly as if pulled by magnetic force. He leaned down to kiss her chastely, and her palm brushed against his cheek for the slowest moment, keeping him there. When he smiled lightly for her, it wasn’t as if everything washed away. He still looked like shit, but happy shit. 

“How was the flight, my love?”

Yuri rolled his eyes behind his shades, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. He wished he could fast forward all the happy reunions to get to his own. 

While they talked, Yuri watched the clear glass elevator as it traveled up and down the floors of the main building. He saw someone coming down to the lobby, and his heart nearly stopped. He took his sunglasses off, just to make sure, but of course. 

He would know that wild hair anywhere. 

Serik was blowing a huge pink bubble, and it popped just as the elevator doors opened. He walked out, both his hands in his pullover’s single pocket. One of his chucks was untied but he probably had no idea. 

When he saw Yuri, he crumbled. 

Whenever Serik cried all of a sudden, like when reading a super sappy birthday card or seeing newborn puppies,his face did this scrunchy thing like he’d eaten something sour as his lip wobbled and he tried to hold back the tears. It was really ugly and they made fun of him for it, but not when it really counted. Besides it was Serik, so even his ugly was kind of adorable.

“Yuri-“ he whispered, and then overflowed. He instantly rushed forward and hugged him like he hasn’t seen him for years, not weeks. “I’m so sorry, so sorry Yuri.” 

Yuri patted his back and was confused. “What in the world are you sorry for, bub?” 

People in the lobby were staring curiously as they walked by and Erzhan and Holly moved in closer as if to shield them, especially Serik, from everyone who had no business knowing why he was crying. 

“I’m sorry he didn’t tell you, and then that morning, you went to look for him. It all happened so fast and I knew if you were there he wouldn’t have left-“ 

“It’s okay.” Yuri quickly cut him off, and pulled him closer. They held each other like family as Yuri repeated the words and soothed him, and it was the most surreal way Yuri could think of that he’d ended up here. He’d never had family until suddenly he did, and Serik was crying softly against his shoulder. 

There was a heavy weight still there, questions that needed to be asked but it just wasn’t the right time. Yuri wanted to know what happened in those last moments, no to mention everything after. He’d spent that past few weeks thinking he would have no part it in this, that Otabek would return from Malibu like he’d been stationed there, and Yuri would just have to figure it out. Now he was stationed there too, holding onto someone he considered his brother. 

Eventually, Serik calmed down and wiped his eyes, regaining his youthful composure, but it was in his eyes the same way it was in his brother’s. This had been hell for them. 

“I’m taking him home,” Holly said gently, her arm around Erzhan’s waist. “If you guys need anything before visiting hours end, anything at all-“ 

“We know,” Serik said, managing a soft smile. He gave Holly a quick hug and his older brother held his face between his hands. 

“As-salamu alaykum,” he murmured softly, and kissed the top of Serik’s head. Then they were gone, and that left Serik and Yuri in the front lobby together.

“Alright,” Serik sighed, his hands finding their normal place back inside his pockets. He put on his monotone theme park voice. “Please keep all arms and legs inside the vehicle for the duration of this tour-“ 

Yuri smirked, throwing an arm around his shoulder as he was lead down a hallway. 

“What is this, anyway?” Serik remarked, tugging at the faux fur. “Is this like a fluffy coat of armor?” 

Yuri couldn’t help but laugh. It hurt because he didn’t want to laugh, he wanted to see Otabek, but he couldn’t help it. He’d missed Serik too. 

“He doesn’t know you’re here, by the way. I really hope he doesn’t have a heart attack, that would be inconvenient.” 

Yuri stopped in the hallway. Serik stopped too, looking suddenly guilty. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean-“ he said, sighed, and started again. “It’s just been. . . A lot. I don’t want to lie to you, Yuri. I know part of him has been acting like this so he could manipulate us into bringing you here, but I think another bigger part of him, it’s genuine. He’s having a really hard time, he doesn’t have a lot of will to-“ 

Serik cut himself off, looking down at his shoes. 

“He doesn’t really have any motivation to get out of here. At least he hasn’t shown it. But either way, he will at some point, and thinking about what comes after that is kind of scaring the crap out of me.” 

“Hey,” Yuri called his attention, but there was just an edge of defense still there. “I won’t let anything happen, he’ll be okay.” 

Serik looked at him sadly, his eyes glassy. “I don’t think that’s really your call.” 

  
  
  
  


Serik walked him silently to a nondescript office door at the end of the hall. 

“His counselor wanted to meet you,” he explained softly before knocking on the half-opened door. It seemed counterintuitive, seeing as the door was half-open and there was a sign that read “come on in!” but Serik was polite. 

“My favorite Altin, come to visit,” a grey-haired man remarked from his bookcase, setting down his reading to take long strides over to where they were standing in the doorway. 

He held out and hand, “and you must be Yuri.” 

Yuri crossed his arms in response, looked away. He didn’t like the way this guy added letters to his name and smiled so damn much.

He awkwardly shook hands with Serik instead and welcomed them into the large room, a bay window on the far wall giving a view of the ocean.

“Please sit, make yourselves at home.”

Yuri huffed and looked around for a chair. He watched in horror as Serik and the unidentified tall man sat down on  _ the floor _ , sitting on a large circular rug with an intricate pattern. He stayed upright and lingered towards the window. 

“Okay then,” the man went on cheerily. “Yuri, I’m Dr. Nikiforov but around here my friends just call me Victor.” 

_ Friends _ . Yuri wanted to gag. 

He launched into this long progress report with a lot of numbers and statistics that didn’t sound very good. Serik listened intently, because Erzhan was no longer there to do it. Yuri looked out at the waves, the endless ocean. He wasn’t interested in the numbers compiled from other people who had been there. Otabek wasn’t going to be one of the numbers. 

“Would you like to see him now?” 

At that, Victor finally had Yuri’s attention. 

“Are you sure you’re ready for this, Yuri?” Serik clarified, and Victor nodded beside him like that was a better choice of words. Of course Yuri would like to see him, he just didn’t know if he would like what he found. 

He remembered asking Otabek a similar question the last time they’d talked. The real answer is that no one was ever ready to do anything hard, they just had to get it over with. 

“Yeah, I have to be ready for this. Where is he?”

  
  
  
  


Serik walked with him outside the main building into an expansive courtyard that broke off into several buildings. 

“Erzhan got him a private room, of course.” 

They walked into another building with another lobby where a stout woman at the front desk waved at Serik with a friendly smile. 

“Hey baby,” she greeted, in the way that overly-friendly older women always do, “your brother is out in his yard again.” 

“Clothed this time, I hope?” Serik chuckled as they signed in, although the way he said it didn’t sound like it was much of a joke. Her smile remained and she looked over Yuri. Slowly it faded from her face like a storm cloud had settled over. 

“Is this the boyfriend we’ve heard so much about?”

Yuri looked over at Serik, “You’ve been talking about me?” 

A quick shake of his head, curls pushed back with tired hands, “Not us, _аға”_

Yuri looked back at the woman, her voice sad. “Baby, I’ve never seen grief like that. A lot of people struggle the first few days, of course, but he was just beside himself without you. Nothing we could do to calm him, and even now you’re all he wants to talk about.” 

He didn’t really know what to say. Was Otabek angry with him? Did he think that Yuri had ruined his life? Did he miss him? He just didn’t know yet. Everyone had been sparing his feelings, much to his annoyance. 

“You know, by the time most folks get here, they’ve lost just about every person in their life to their addictions,” the nurse said wearily, as if she had seen it happen to hundreds of people. Maybe so. 

“He’s really lucky to have you boys,” She looked over at Serik then to Yuri, “and you, young man. We all need someone to share the stage with.” 

Yuri thought she must mean the stage of life, but then again she’d probably seen enough musicians that had passed through there to create a new hall of fame. Maybe they’d walk down the hall and there would be all of their pictures there, so many frozen in youth. Yuri didn’t want to think about it. 

Serik said their goodbyes for him and their walk continued until he opened a door marked only by a chart outside the door. Inside was a modern, modest bedroom and bath. Serik was going through a real effort of showing Yuri where everything was, but it was lost on him. The minute he had his back turned, Yuri snuck out through the sliding glass door. 

The yard that the nurse had mentioned, as it turned out, was the ocean. 

There was a small strip of private beach, accessible by path to several of the buildings. Yuri walked into the sand with shaking legs, searching. He saw several people passing by, some talking to what looked like carbon copies of Victor, or maybe they all just looked like they shopped at whole foods. 

Finally,  _ finally _ , he found him. 

Otabek was standing alone, looking out at the waves. His hands were by his sides, open. He was trembling, too. It was as if he were waiting, challenging the sea to rise up and bring him under. Yuri could only see his back as he trudged through the sand in heavy, impractical shoes. He would see the sun, and the faint outline of the lotus flower on Otabek’s neck. If only their old friend Armand could know the irony. 

He didn’t call his name or start running toward him. He was calm, despite the erratic beat of his heart. He simply walked forward, until he was just behind him, and let their fingers intertwine. 

when Otabek looked at him, he was changed. The first noticeable difference was the facial hair, because he was rarely ever unshaven, but now he was halfway to a full beard. In other circumstances, with his leather jacket and his stage persona, it might have worked. Then, it just made him look foreign to himself. Then the tired rings around his eyes, the unwashed hair. He looked like the last seven years finally caught up to him. 

But his eyes. His eyes were the same ones Yuri loved, the ones that he trusted above all else. It was hard to know brown eyes, see the subtle shifts in them, until you loved someone who had them. A range of emotions passed through the seconds between Yuri taking a hold of his hand, and the recognition.

First, anger. Then shock, and realization. Then, just before he spoke, sadness. 

“You’re here,” he whispered brokenly, “you stayed.”

Then all at once, Otabek was holding him. Yuri went light-headed with the rush. He lifted weak arms to wrap around him, and for a long while they simply cried against each other’s shoulders as the waves went on, regardless of them. 

  
  
  


Eventually, the time for crying about it was over, at least for a while. They had so many things to talk about, so much so that Yuri was already tired. All he wanted was to fall asleep in Otabek’s arms and wake up when everything was better, but it wouldn’t be until they talked about it. 

When they pulled apart, Yuri could see that Serik was watching from just outside the door. Before he walked off, he waved. Serik didn’t wave back. 

“Otabek,” he called from a few feet away, reaching his hand out. 

He was watching the waves, still in a stunned silence. Somehow, he took that first step. 

They walked in silence for a while until they found a small alcove, a private place in an overexposed location. They each climbed up onto a rock and sat near each other. Yuri counted every inch of distance. He counted the ways they could begin again. 

“What’s with the scruff?”

It came out of his mouth before he could stop it. It was the least painful route, at least. Easier to ask than  _ do you still want me? _

Otabek’s lip upturned slightly and he ran a hand over his jaw, “Yeah, not a fan either. They don’t let me have razors, just in case.” 

_ Just in case.  _

Three words had the power to stab into his gut, or press in between his ribs. He might as well tattoo them on, so they can live on him. Just in case. Just in case Otabek decided he couldn’t do it anymore, no matter what. 

“I can bring some, if you want. I brought your guitar, is there anything I can-” 

“Yura,” Otabek said firmly, putting him on pause, “can you just be here with me, right now?” 

He nodded, though he wasn’t totally sure how. Being there for Otabek had always been easy, he’d always had the answers. Sex for when he was sad, coke for when he was restless or upset or just about anything else. Of course, those were the wrong answers, but he hadn’t fully figured that out until it was a little bit too late. Everyone who could have taught him how to love had died before they got a chance. 

But they were there, together. 

So he held his hand, and was patient. Wasn’t that how the first bit went,  _ love is patient _ ? 

Otabek rose to meet him slowly.  

“I lost my voice the first night. I was fine when Serik brought me in, I just went to sleep. But I woke up screaming. I just. . . didn’t stop. I don’t really remember much. Some things i’ve said to them since then, I wish I could forget.”

Yuri rubbed soothing circles against the back of his hand as he spoke, “You said things out of anger, but they are your brothers. They understand.”

“They shouldn’t have to put up with it though, and neither should you. You deserve so much better.”

Something broke inside of Yuri, like the snap of a branch in a quiet wood. He hated that phrase, loathed it. He knew other people thought it, and in the darkest of moments he had wondered it too. But Yuri knew his heart, and there was no one after Otabek. There would be no one, so this was it. He wouldn’t let Otabek think it too, not when he had a second chance staring him in the face. 

“When are you going to learn I don’t care very much about what I deserve? I only care about what I’ve worked for, and I’ve worked pretty damn hard for you. I’m not just going to stop fighting because things have gotten harder. I don’t care how many roses I have to burn. You’re it for me, lucky seven.” 

Otabek looked at him, brown eyes wandering over him for a moment like he was seeing him for the first time, and remembering all the reckless nights they’d shared. There was hurt there, but love overflowed. It was how healing always started.

“So you burned them, the roses I sent you?” 

Yuri nodded, “I had to destroy something, and I was mad at you. Mad at myself, and everyone. I felt blindsided. I burned all of them, except one.” 

He drew the number seven over the surface of his skin, twice. 

Otabek smiled weakly, “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Yuri put his head on Otabek’s shoulder. There were waves before them, and there would be waves when they left. 

“I’m sorry, Yuri. That’s not enough and i’m going to be apologizing for a long time,” He paused, another shaky breath, “but I am sorry. That morning I left I wanted to tell you, I wanted it to be so different, I thought I was going to be ready to do this. But that’s just the thing, no one is ever truly ready, some things happen whether we’re ready or not. And I think Serik knew this needed to happen.”

They were closer, sitting side by side. He hadn’t needed an apology from Otabek, but he had needed to hear that abandoning him wasn’t part of the plan. That was all Yuri needed to start healing. He felt a little bit selfish for reacting the way he did, but then again he couldn’t imagine reacting any other way. 

“How do you feel now?” he asked softly. 

Otabek’s reply was instant and deadpan, “Sober.” 

Yuri looked at him, dagger-eyed. 

“I’m serious,” he defended, “Being sober feels like a lot of things. Mostly, numb. Sometimes sad, because my brain is telling me i’ve lost something that made me feel good, not something that was killing me. And i’m really fucking angry sometimes, because I have to deal with the fact that I can never get high again without feeling guilty, but everyone else can.” 

Otabek had moved to America when he was eighteen. It was the first time he could truly get away from the pressure of his parents, step out of the shadow of his brother and plunge himself into the darkness he’d always flirted with from afar. He’d come to America to ensure his parent’s dreams for him died, and his own went haywire. 

Yuri was eighteen when they’d met. Otabek was the first true light in Yuri’s life, no one else had burned around him as brightly and as long. He’d clung to him like he was trying to catch a ride on a shooting star. 

Serik would be eighteen soon, and it would be his turn. 

“Growing up sucks, doesn’t it?” Yuri replied, “Realizing you’re not the exception, that you’re just as mortal and easy to break as everyone else?” 

 

“Yeah,” Otabek nodded grimly, “That’s why I love coke, it’s a great liar.” 

Yuri laughed softly, he couldn’t help it. 

“I shouldn’t be laughing, I should be crying and screaming at you. This should hurt.” 

“Don’t worry,” Otabek said as he wrapped an arm around him, “I’m sure we’ll get to that at some point. Right now, I just want to feel that you’re really here next to me, and watch the waves with you.”

“Okay, I can do that.” 

It should be hard, but it’s not. It hadn’t felt that way with Otabek in a long time, and Yuri didn’t realize how much he had missed it. He knew it wouldn’t remain, that there would be a time when Otabek didn’t say the right things, or he lashed out to defend himself, and it would hurt.

There was something sacred about being close again, though, and he wouldn’t let it fade away just yet. 

  
  
  
  


Eventually the sun went down and it was cold, so they returned to the room to find Serik gone. They were on the bed together almost at once. 

“There’s a camera in the corner,” Otabek murmured as they shook the sand out of their shoes by the door. Yuri turned and waved. 

“They don’t watch it,” he laughed, leading Yuri by hand over to the bed, “except when I was trashing my last room, I guess.” 

They sat on top of the covers with their legs crossed, facing each other. It was so strange, because Otabek didn’t quite look like himself with the hair on his face, and Yuri didn’t quite look like himself with the lack of hair on his head. They only had a few hours left, so they didn’t want to waste them.

“There’s a reason for everything, right?” Otabek started, tracing his fingers along Yuri’s knee as he spoke. It was comforting to feel his unconcious touch again. He had missed it. “At the very least, all of this has brought my brothers and I back together.” 

“I think Erzhan is a robot.”

That made Otabek chuckle and shake his head, “He has his human moments.”

There it was again, the way Otabek could say something so simple, but Yuri could almost feel the true weight of it in the air. He didn’t need to ask what he meant by human moments. He could fill in the gaps, picture the way that brothers act only when they’re with each other. He wondered how many times Erzhan had to step out to make a call, only to push back tears out of sight. 

“And the rest of your family?” Yuri pressed softly. Otabek shook his head, smile faded. He knew enough not to press further. Some wounds needed more time than others. Being close to Erzhan was miracle enough, and love could only reach so far across the oceans. 

But they were there, together. The air was thicker, their breathing slowed. Yuri let it slip off his tongue.

“I really want to feel what it’s like to kiss you again.” 

It was too late for Yuri to be embarrassed about being vulnerable, they’d been too honest with each other. Maybe it could be a new thing for them. 

If Otabek was surprised by it, it didn’t register on his face.

“Then do it. You didn’t need to ask the first time.”

“I want it to be you,” he whispered into the space between them. “Say you need me. Say you can’t live without me.” 

Even on his lips he knew it was a bitter taste in his words. He was clinging to the last bit he had. The truth was impossible to ignore. They had grown past it, and the idea was terrifying as all change was. 

Slowly, Otabek shook his head. He inched closer until their knees touched, and he held Yuri’s face in his hands. Yuri trembled, exhaled a shaky breath. He felt Otabek pressed their foreheads together, their minds working in the same orbit again. Yuri had thought all that hippie crap that Holly talked about was just that, but he couldn’t deny it. He could feel the energy flowing between them, he’d never been so attuned to it. It was so much clearer when they were sober. 

They closed their eyes, let it move through them like soundwaves, like peace. Healing. They were so still together when Otabek finally whispered back. 

“I can’t say that yura. I can live without you, and you can live without me. When I had to leave, it wasn’t like we stopped breathing. Even when you were far away from me, I could feel you.”

Yuri felt his every breath, his every movement as he moved his arm, his fingertips pressing feather-light onto Yuri’s arms and traveling down. It was such a simple, insignificant gesture, but it made tears pool in Yuri’s eyes. He had felt it too, he had  _ known.  _

“We can live without each other, we just proved that. But neither of us want to. And we’re damn lucky that we don’t have to.” 

As the universe realigned itself to bring them together, seven things happened in perfect synchronicity. 

Tears fall down cheeks and are brushed away.  There was a hitch in breath. A hand on another, fingers interlacing. A head tilting. A hesitant glance, wet eyelashes. There was a pull, and it was the end of everything before it, and the start of everything after. 

Finally, there was a meeting. A reunion. A resettlement of parallel lines. 

They kissed in the way that kissing had always meant to be and so rarely was. A soft, lingering touch, the first step of a hesitant dance. 

Track one was a slow song, an acoustic. It was all affection, all a long and gentle  _ I missed you. _

Track two, a few minutes later, was when the tempo ramped up. Passion and loss and memory and pain flowed through them, quickening the pace to make up for lost time. 

Yuri never wanted to stop. He never wanted to do anything but kiss that specific person, but not in that specific bed and that specific place. He needed to be closer. He needed to feel like they were somewhere else. He pushed himself onto his knees and then crawled onto Otabek’s lap. For a moment, he wasn’t alone. Hands moved down his sides, wrapped around his waist and pulled him flush against Otabek’s chest. Wherever he moved, Otabek followed. Until he pulled away. 

“Yuri,” he said softly, resting their heads together again. “We should cool down.” 

“You don’t want me?” It was the first thing he jumped to. His heart was still racing. 

“Of course I  _ want _ you,” there were his fingertips again, running down his arms. “I’ve been half out my mind wanting you. But I can’t. . . I can’t use you as a coping mechanism or a replacement. It will make me hate you, and I can’t let that happen.” 

Otabek let out a shaky breath. 

“Don’t you understand that I love  _ you _ ? Not your body, not what we can do for each other. We are more than what we’ve done to each other.” 

Thumbs brush against Yuri’s cheeks to clear new tears. He didn’t even know why he was still crying. He didn’t know how a person could feel so much at once and not die from it. Somehow, one word was able to encompass it all. 

“I love you too.” 

It’s Otabek that kissed him first then, strong but controlled. He was touching Yuri like he was practicing wading into the water instead of diving in headfirst. He would be practicing that for the rest of his life, probably. It was hard to learn, but unlearning was fighting the tide. 

  
  
  


They were quiet as they lay down side by side, matching their breath. Otabek ran his fingers through what was left of Yuri’s hair. He couldn’t curl a strand around his fingers anymore. 

“I’m sorry I cut it, seemed like a good idea at the time.” 

“I don’t care about your hair, Yura.”

There was nothing to do, nothing to distract them. They looked at the ceiling tiles, no artificial stars to glow above them. Maybe now they would go out and fall asleep under the real ones. 

Whole minutes of comfortable silence passed without tears. It had always felt like that to come down, but now there was no headache. 

“I can hear the ocean from here,” Yuri whispered. It was a beautiful, comforting sound. 

“I’ve been watching the tides while I’ve been here,” Otabek replied. “The first day he was allowed to visit, Serik and I wrote in the sand. He wrote out prayers, I wrote out lyrics.” 

Yuri huffed a laugh, buried his face against Otabek’s neck. He smelled slightly different, the way people in hospitals smelled artificially clean. 

“I went back in the morning to see if it was still there, but the high tide had washed it away. I found out, it doesn’t matter what you build, the high tide will take it all away, wipe everything blank. But then, when there is a new moon, the tides can be low, and they leave the sand as it is. So after that first day that I was stable, I started writing how long I’d been in here. Can you guess what number was still in the sand one morning?” 

Yuri didn’t answer, but he tapped his finger against where it lay on Otabek’s chest. He followed the beat of his heart. 

_ One. Two. Three.  _

_ Four. Five. Six _ . 

And an extra one, for luck.

Otabek nodded wordlessly, kissed his temple. 

It gave Yuri hope. They could rebuild, they could rise up to where the tides couldn’t reach them. They were always beautiful together, everyone could see that. But this time, they had a chance to be something more than that. A chance to be strong, inextinguishable. 

“Do you think we’ll ever be okay?” 

“No,” Otabek answered honestly. “At least, I don’t see it yet, but that’s alright. Tides change.” 

There’s another soft kiss, and Yuri almost mourned because he could feel that it was the last of the night. Serik would come back and knock quietly, tell him visiting hours were over and it was time to go. Yuri held on, and brought his face down to Otabek’s heart where he could press his cheek against chest. 

“What are you doing, tiger?” 

“Shhh,” Yuri whispered. He had the ocean in one ear, and Otabek’s heartbeat in the other. “This is my favorite part.” 

  
  
  
  


When they got to the apartment, the door to Erzhan’s room was closed. 

Serik flopped down on one side of the couch, and Yuri on the other. They pretended to watch a movie for all of forty-five minutes before they gave up and talked about what was really on their minds. Yuri told Serik a condensed version of what was said between him and Otabek. He tried to leave out the more intimate details, but Serik was smarter than them. 

His eyes narrowed suspiciously, “So you’re just going to act like you two totally  _ didn’t _ make out when I wasn’t around?”

Yuri sighed dramatically, burying his face in the sofa cushions so he didn’t have to answer. 

“Look, I know you guys still love each other and all, but maybe take it slow? I mean, if you didn’t notice he’s kind of jekyll and hyde at the moment. Victor says that’s normal, and I just hope you’re ready for that. Going home and finishing the album sober is going to be hard enough, you don’t need to add  _ doing stuff _ into it.” 

“We talked about that, smarty. I agree, but it’s not really any of your business when and how we  _ do stuff. _ ” 

“I know, I just,” Serik became quieter, looked away. He was obviously uncomfortable, and not just because he couldn’t say the word  _ sex _ out loud. “I just hope you’re careful with each other this time.” 

The brief silence that fell was weighted, because for once Yuri didn’t know what to say to him. Serik was right. Maybe the reason Yuri felt so abandoned was because he’d finally lost. He thought that love meant being the single most important part of someone, but that just wasn’t true. There were so many pieces that contributed to the love a person could experience. Otabek was facing a piece that was bigger than his love for anyone else. He had lied, hidden things away, made excuses. For any other person, those actions came from fear. Drug addicts learned how to treat the symptom of fear, but were on a hopeless path to treat the cause. It was like trying to wipe away the lowest part of human nature by lining it up and snorting it. 

In the end, nothing, not even Yuri, was a better option than living with fear. Love could not win against the fear of failure, the fear of death. The fear of feeling too much for the mind to hold. 

Otabek would have to face all of that in full force for the first time, and even with Yuri by his side it was going to be the hardest, longest battle of his life. 

While he pondered these revelations, face down in the cushions, Yuri noticed Serik was abnormally quiet. 

He looked up, then sat up with renewed interest. Serik was  _ blushing  _ and smiling down at his phone while his thumbs typed quickly. 

“Who are you texting?” Yuri asked, it was his turn to narrow his eyes suspiciously. 

Normally, Serik would fumble, blush harder and hide his phone. Make a flustered excuse. Instead he finished the message, then locked his phone and calmly put it in his back pocket as he stood up. 

“That’s really none of your business,” he smirked, then walked out of the living room towards the hall, to the room they’d be sharing. 

Yuri didn’t get up to follow him but stayed on the soft plush of the sofa, letting it hold him. He could see why the brothers hadn’t had much luck with sleeping, there were so many things running tracks in his mind. 

He had to tell himself that all of his memories with Otabek, all the good ones, were not tainted now. They still happened, and he could still let himself remember what he felt in the moment. He didn’t want to sit through and map out where every lie crossed with the truth. If he did that, he might really never sleep. 

While he was frozen there, the door to the main bedroom opened and shut softly. Erzhan walked out, his hair surprisingly tamed. He wore only a pair of grey sweatpants, but there was a designer’s name on the waistband which meant that those grey sweatpants were grossly overpriced, and probably had silk-lined pockets that stored Erzhan’s extra batteries. 

He walked into the kitchen and wordlessly got out a scotch glass. Then he opened the fridge and took out a carton of milk. He took one sip, then looked up at where Yuri was still in plain sight. Neither of them said anything. 

Erzhan was not like Serik, he wasn’t going to go over and sit next to Yuri to talk about anything that didn’t fit a spreadsheet. If he wanted this awkward silence to end, he would have to make the first move.

So Yuri got up and crossed the difference, and took out a mug. He poured himself a glass, and sat on a barstool across from where Erzhan stood. 

“Cheers,” he said, and they clinked glasses. 

Another hesitant sip. Quiet.

“You know tomorrow is going to be so much worse, right?” 

Yuri wondered where Erzhan’s off button was, where he could clip the wire. 

“He was nice to us that first day too,” he continued, staring at Yuri. Neither of them could break eye contact. “No visits were allowed while he was in detox, so for those first four days he was alone. When we finally got to see him, I think he was just so relieved to see people he knew. He didn’t even know how much time had passed, to him it was all one long, painful fever dream.” 

Yuri didn’t want to hear about it, he didn’t want to know about the most painful parts of what Otabek had been through. 

“Once it was all on its way out of his system and his body realized he wasn’t going to be able to re-supply, things got ugly. He’s trashed his room, more than once. There’s been times where he looked at me like he was planning to kill me. He’s said awful, disgusting things in front of us both. And as close as they are, he’s fought with Serik even more than me. Serik isn’t meek any longer, he’ll push back just as hard, cut just as deep. He’s seen more than any kid should have to, so he has a right. You’re going to see a part of him that’s extremely difficult to love, much less understand. He’ll say one thing, then go back on it. He’ll tell you things that sound like they’re from a horror movie to try to scare you off. The worst of it is when he doesn’t say anything at all, for the whole day. He says nothing, but you can see the torment in his eyes, and then he looks at you, and you feel like you’re the reason for it all. Because you weren’t there when he needed you.” 

Yuri’s eyes have widened slightly, because he has a feeling that last part is a bit more honest than Erzhan usually allowed himself to be. 

He took a long sip of milk, “At least, that’s how it is for me. He might shield you.” 

“Lucky me,” Yuri murmured, running his finger along the edge of the glass. 

“At least now he’ll shut up about you,” Erzhan said, taking his empty glass to the sink. 

“He talked about me?” Yuri tried to hide his interest. He’d known Otabek had talked about him to the staff, but to his eldest brother? Erzhan shot him a look, leaning against the counter with his hands in his pockets. 

“It was one of the only things he’s been willing to talk about me with. He’s told me a lot about you, from before he met you, I guess he wants me to -”

Yuri cut him off, bristled up, “What, feel sorry for me?”

“Understand you.” 

That shut Yuri up. 

“I do understand, how both of you fell into each other. He’s never been interested in unfaithful people. I don’t mean in relationships, I mean in every aspect of life. Everyone he’s ever had a meaningful relationship with has been faithful to something outside of themselves to a fault. I think that’s why he doesn’t trust Holly. She only shows true faith to herself. He sees that as a selfish quality, he doesn’t see that for her, helping others is a part of that faith, but not all of it. Not above personal freedom. It isn’t selfish to refuse to harm  yourself for the sake of another person, Yuri.” 

Erzhan’s features softened when he talked about Holly, and Yuri knew then that they had an understanding of each other. He remembered that night that Jarrod had told him about, at the red light. Holly was the type of person who had a breaking point. Sometimes, she needed to leave to find herself again, but she always came back. She had said she needed both. Yuri was beginning to understand. It was Erzhan, the person Holly had known the shortest amount of time, who was telling him about a person he’d known longer than any of them. Jarrod had the faith, but lacked the understanding. 

“Also,” Erzhan added, “for someone so against any connection to the divine himself that he seeks it out in other people, he calls the person he cares the most about angel. All the time, even when you’re not around to hear it. He would say it in his sleep, and Serik told me when I asked that it was what he calls you. Isn’t that telling?” 

Yuri hid his smile in a sip. 

“What about me? Why do you think I fell for him?” 

“Well, the short answer is you have a type.”

Erzhan chuckled at that, and it was kind of unnerving. Maybe he wasn’t a robot, but he was definitely an annoying older brother. 

“Long answer? You never got over being abandoned that first time, by your father. It caused a chain of events that resulted in the loss of your family, and that is unforgivable. But it taught you that everyone given the chance to love you would leave, or hurt you. Still, you had to seek it out, if only to prove it to yourself. What better way to prove your theory than to fall in love with an addict?” 

Yuri sighed, pushed his glass away. Erzhan brought it to the sink and washed it out. 

“How do you know so much about people, did you get a psychology degree or something?” 

Erzhan shrugged, “Only my undergrad. You’d be surprised how beneficial it is within business.” 

Before Yuri could make a comment on that, the bedroom door opened. Holly stood in the doorway, yawning in the button-down shirt Erzhan had been wearing earlier.

“Come back to bed,” she whispered softly, and left the door open as she trailed away. 

“Goodnight Yuri,” he said neutrally as he passed by, “Try not to expect too much for the rest of the week.” 

  
  
  
  


Whatever data Erzhan had calculated seemed to reign true after all. Victor would tell him every day that it was going to be even worse in the weeks after Otabek went home, but Yuri didn’t see how that could possibly be true. 

The morning after the day he arrived, Yuri walked into Otabek’s room, expecting to find him just back from group therapy. He wanted to prove everyone wrong, that Otabek was fine now, or at least getting there. Fine enough to go home. 

He found the room in a state of darkness. All the lights were off, the curtains closed. If he’d been to group, it hadn’t motivated him to do anything else, because he had returned to his bed. He had his back to the door, and didn’t move when Yuri came in. 

“Hey,” he greeted softly, leaving only a sliver of the door open behind him. “I brought shaving cream and razors, do you want to take a shower first?” 

He figured getting Otabek up would be a good first step. He didn’t get a reply. 

Walking around to the other side of the bed, he found that Otabek was awake, staring blankly at the wall. He didn’t look up at Yuri. 

“Get up.” 

Otabek turned on his side, back to Yuri again. 

“Not right now, Yuri.” 

Yuri dropped his bag on the nightstand. Part of him wanted to pull the covers off the bed, demand Otabek get up. Demand he just get it together, so that they could go home. What good would that really do? Instead, he took off his shoes, and laid silently beside him. Seven heartbeats went by. 

“Angel?” Otabek murmured. 

“Hmm?” 

“Can you hold me?” 

Yuri turned on his side and snaked his arm around Otabek’s waist. He tucked his face between his shoulders, against the home inked on his back. 

Otabek didn’t say anything else, and Yuri didn’t force it. 

  
  
  


The rest of the week passed by in a similar fashion, more or less. There were really bad times, when holding Otabek and telling him he loved him didn’t work. It was Victor’s bright idea to have a group session with the three brothers, and it took all of twenty minutes before Otabek was slamming the door and escaping. There were times when he refused to eat, times he refused to do anything. 

Then, he discovered that he could get away with not doing anything, and people called it healing. 

Yuri found him one morning, not in his room but out on the beach, sitting a few feet away from where the waves could reach him. He was perfectly still, meditating. Yuri watched from the window, not wanting to disturb him. 

“That’s one of the only things he’s been successful at, besides music therapy and the occasional workout,” Serik told him as he brought in their breakfast. “Go figure.” 

Of course, for every bump in the road, there were smooth moments, happy even. 

Yuri did end up giving Otabek a shave, and he kissed him so that they were both covered to the neck in shaving cream. They walked along the beach every sunset before Yuri had to leave for the night. Sometimes they were all together in the room, Holly and Erzhan and Serik with them. They didn’t need Victor present to have their own group therapy. 

“What does it feel like, now?” Erzhan asked carefully one afternoon. Yuri noticed that Erzhan had started tapping his fingers against his thigh, something he had never done before. He did it incessantly, until Holly took his hand in her own. He had also noticed that Erzhan never carried a pack or a lighter anymore. It wasn’t like Otabek had asked any of them to stop doing anything for his sake, but Yuri suspected it was the same reason he hadn’t touched anything either. It wasn’t like they never could again, but what really was the point of it all besides a coping mechanism? 

Erzhan and Holly were on the sofa, and Otabek on his bed with Yuri resting against his side. Serik was curled into the armchair, cradling his phone but still engaging in the conversation. Especially whenever food came up. 

Otabek considered the question for a while.

“I guess it feels like an old song,” he finally replied. Everyone looked at him skeptically. He continued. 

“Imagine you had your favorite song in your back pocket for seven years. It was there when you were sad, it was there when you were angry, it was there when you were happy. Everything you felt was elevated. It was a part of your best and worst memories. It was a part of you, a heart song. Even though it never really felt like that first time, you still chased it because maybe under the perfect circumstances, it would again. Then imagine that one day that song disappeared completely, and no matter what you did you couldn’t listen to that song ever again, but it was still in your head. And everyone is looking at you like you're crazy for caring so much about a song because you have so much going for you in your life and it’s just a fucking song. But it’s not just a song, is it?” 

Everyone was quiet for a moment, absorbing the thought. Yuri could understand. He didn’t want to think about it, but if Otabek really had gone, who would still remember the songs that he’d only ever played for Yuri? He would have all these beautiful, broken memories of a version of Otabek that no one had known, except him. Love, addiction, and a perfect song that no one else remembered. They all ran parallel to each other. 

Serik deadpanned, “That’s a very romanticized view of the situation, but go off I guess.”

The three of them said his name in a range of scolding and annoyed tones, but Otabek just nodded, smirking. 

“That’s fair,” Otabek laughed. Yuri loved the sound so much he couldn’t stay annoyed with the youngest of them. Serik really was the only one who could push back on Otabek’s bullshit. 

Eventually, the conversation flowed from one side of the room to the other. Yuri could feel Otabek relax when the attention was off of himself. It was just another subtle shift, because he had always thrived on it, needed attention before. 

Erzhan was talking about his business in New York, his life there. He was living the kind of city lifestyle that was only supposed to exist in the movies, but it wasn’t so much about the money, although surely it helped. Maybe if Yuri hadn’t seen the way that they looked at each other, he could pretend it was superficial too, but he just couldn’t. Holly had always talked so much about balance, how to achieve it and hold onto it like it was something finite and measurable. When he looked at the two of them he could see that true balance between people was in constant motion, never stagnant but always evolving. There was a natural give and take that kept everything alive. Yuri pressed a soft kiss against Otabek’s shoulder, looked up at him. It would take a learning curve, but he wanted that same balance for them. 

  
  
  


The days went by slow, sometimes feeling like whole lifetimes between ten to six, that was how much Otabek’s temperament swayed. 

One morning, just two days before his release, Otabek and Yuri were lying on his bed, quiet and cuddled into each other. Yuri thought it was going to be another day that they didn’t talk about much of anything, but Otabek always surprised him. 

“I want to tell you something, but I don’t know where to start,” is how it began. 

Yuri leaned up on one elbow so that he could look at him, and placed his other hand over Otabek’s heart. 

“Maybe start here?” 

So he told him everything that had happened from the night Serik confronted him, to the morning he’d left. When he admitted to Yuri what Serik had asked of him, tears were in his eyes. Yuri refused to let him see how devastating it was to him, he steeled himself.

“And you did it? You let him see that?” 

Otabek nodded, ashamed. 

“Good,” Yuri said harshly. “I want you to remember that. If you ever start missing the feeling, the people you dealt with, the places, I want you to remember his face.” 

It was Yuri’s turn to wipe away Otabek’s tears, kiss his forehead. Fingers down his arm, soothing. 

“It’s something I will never be able to forget,” he confessed against Yuri’s neck as he held him. “That’s exactly why he did it.” 

Yuri knew that Otabek had apologized to Serik, but when he went home after visiting hours that night, he hugged Serik tight in the kitchen, disrupting the assembly line of takeout they were sharing. 

“What’s with the squeezing?” He laughed, patting Yuri’s head. 

It was too serious for the moment, but Erzhan and Holly were already on the couch ignoring them anyway.  

“Thank you,” Yuri told him, “for giving him something to fight for.” 

Serik’s smile was soft, incredibly humble. 

“Look around, Yuri. It’s not just for me anymore. It’s not only  _ for _ any of us. He’s finally fighting for himself.” 

  
  
  
  


The next day, Otabek wasn’t even in his room. He wasn’t ‘out in the yard’ or meditating. He was in Victor’s office. When Yuri signed in, he was instructed to meet them in there. He was cautious, but curious. It could really only go one of two ways. Either it would be great, or there would be a lot of yelling and creative uses of the Russian language. Maybe both. 

What he did not expect to see was Otabek writing. 

He closed the door softly behind himself and went to stand beside Victor, who was watching the process. There were papers strewn out around where Otabek sat, and he had his guitar in his lap. It was the first time Yuri had seen him with it since he’d been in Malibu. 

“He’s been like this for hours,” Victor smiled at him, watching with interest, a curled hand to his chin. “He just came in this morning, sat down and got to work. He said he feels safe here.”

That, or no one would bug him about going to therapy if he was already in his counselor's office. 

Yuri carefully knelt down behind Otabek, wrapped his arms around him. His hand stilled on a chord, then paused to take Yuri’s, brought it up to his lips to kiss. 

“Hey angel,” He murmured and Yuri exhaled, relaxed. It was a good day, or at least a good hour. 

“What are you working on?”

Otabek nodded to his open notebooks, a mess of ink on paper. Yuri sat down next to him, leaned on him, and ran his fingers over the words. There was a half-formed tracklist on one of the pages, and when he touched them he could almost hear the notes, the chords. Some were familiar, and some were new. He had never heard a song called  _ Hollow’s eve _ , but he could hear Otabek singing it. He noticed Yuri reading it, so he started playing it. 

It sounded just like the old song, and yet it was new again.

_ Hello, hello to hollow _

_ Hello, hello to hollow _

With every line of the pre-chorus, Yuri thought of that first day when Otabek said he felt numb, like a shell of his former self. Scraped out, throw out the addiction, the disease. It left him hollow. 

With every chord played, every line that was put onto paper instead of chopped up and used, he was becoming whole again. 

  
  
  
  


Victor let him stay there until he was done, seeming to understand the importance of creating in the moment, following the tide where it willed you to go. Before long, Yuri was writing too. They swapped chord progressions as often as they did kisses. Pages and Pages filled up with their handwriting from a shared black pen. 

They only stopped to eat. After dinner, Victor put his foot down. They all sat back down in the circle in his office, but this time it was to talk. 

“So, release day,” He began, and he was shuffling papers. It made Yuri nervous. Otabek hadn’t exactly been on his best behavior, but was it enough to push him into sixty days? Ninety? 

“Your brother has been very helpful with the paperwork,” Victor murmured. “And it looks like you’ve signed everything.” 

“So are we going home or what?” Yuri quipped. He’d learned that being blunt usually got the best results. Otabek put a hand on his thigh, rubbed his thumb against his skin. 

“Well, technically, you’re not being treated here Yuri. You can go home any time you wish,” Victor said, a saccharine smile filling his whole face. Yuri imagined the imprint of his combat boots on that big, shiny forehead. It was almost taunting him, Victor’s face.  _ Kick me, Kick me _ . As if he could read his mind, Otabek gripped his thigh. He didn’t say anything else. 

“Otabek, on the other hand, will complete the program in just over twenty-four hours from now! Isn’t that wonderful?” 

He continued on, talking about how proud they all were. Yuri looked over to Otabek, an eyebrow raised. He hadn’t wanted Otabek to be gone in the first place, but now he wondered if he was really ready to leave. It seemed so fast, almost too soon. Was he ready to be home? Was he ready to handle everything that was thrown at him? Was there ever a way to be ready after something like this?

“There’s a bit more. . . involved,” Otabek stated, and just by the subtle movement of his expression Yuri could tell it wasn’t going to be something either of them liked. 

“We usually provide six months of life coaching after treatment, just to ensure there is support whenever it is needed. Often, the first year of sobriety is even harder than becoming sober in the first place.” 

Okay, six months wasn’t so bad, Yuri could handle- 

“But fortunately, Erzhan was so gracious to make it so that I can be a life coach for the both of you, for two years!” 

Oh, fuck. 

Otabek nodded subtly beside him. There had to be more to the story, but Yuri would have to ask later. 

“What a guy, that Erzhan,” Yuri muttered under his breath, dryly. Victor continued, barely able to contain his excitement. 

“So i’ll be checking in every few days, decreasing over time of course. Unless something goes horribly wrong. Anyway, we’ll also have the occasional in-person session, so I guess that means i’ll be visiting you on tour! Shall I make a t-shirt that says,  _ ‘I’m with the band’ _ ?”

Victor’s laughter was the only one that filled the room. 

 

After the session, visiting hours were up. Otabek took him on a very slow walk to the car that was waiting for him, and tried to explain. 

“Listen, I know it’s not ideal, but if it weren’t for E, we would owe even more of our asses to the record company. Your EP is ready to go, but if I don’t finish this album, it’s over for us. We’re still figuring it out.” 

Yuri huffed, “I just don’t think we need a babysitter for two years. You’re clean enough.” 

Otabek stopped in the hallway, letting their interconnected hands slip away from each other. Yuri turned back to face him, fear filling in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-”    
“But you do mean it,” Otabek said softly. He wasn’t angry, but Yuri could see the hurt in his eyes. “That’s okay, you’re not wrong. Being in here is the hardest thing i’ve ever done, but being out there is going to be even worse. I haven’t been here long enough, I think we all know that. But being here isn’t the best for me, either. Erzhan gets that, Serik gets that. I need to finish what I started, I  _ need _ this album. Clean enough isn’t going to get me where I want to be, Yuri. I’m never coming back here, do you understand?” 

The sentence had a sharp edge to it, and Yuri nodded numbly, a lump caught in his throat. Otabek didn’t just say things without meaning, his words were rarely flippant. 

“So if what it takes is being monitored for a while, then I’ll take it. It will probably be a good thing for us both, whether you like it or not. All things considered, I think we’re pretty damn lucky to get this second chance.” 

Yuri instantly softened, tried to bite back his smile. Otabek kissed it before he could. 

They were in a noisy hallway, but they pressed against each other and everything faded to white noise. 

“If we’re going to do this, I need you to be in it with me, okay?” Otabek whispered. 

Yuri nodded. 

“No matter what.” 

They were kissing again, but it was quickly interrupted. 

“Isn’t there a car waiting?” the nurse who usually greeted Yuri at Otabek’s building said loudly as she passed them by. Yuri buried his face in Otabek’s neck, laughing. 

They said their goodbyes with promises to talk more the next day. As Yuri rode back to the apartment alone, he let his head rest against the window. There was so much left to do, so many questions of what would happen when they got home. Yuri was still re-learning their relationship, and he knew it was only the beginning. Everything was changing, and Yuri had never been good at dealing with that. He had to remind himself it would all be for the best. 

For the first time, he let the fear in him settle and slowly mingle with the hope that was rising back up from the ashes. 

  
  
  


 

On the last day, they walked along the same beach where they started the week. They found the same rock, only this time they didn’t sit a few feet from each other. They sat face to face, knees touching. 

Ocean air mixed into their kisses, and Otabek had his hand in Yuri’s hair again. He hadn’t decided if he was going to grow it out again or not, but he still reacted the same when Otabek gripped it. 

Yuri didn’t whine when Otabek pulled away. Patience was only one virtue he’d learned over the week. He wondered how long it would last. 

The wind was whipping his hair, so Otabek tucked it back behind his ears as best as he could. Then he smiled, the first unprompted, genuine smile Yuri had seen from him. It took a beat of his heart away, and he wasn’t going to go chasing for it back. 

“I’m so happy right now.” 

“Because you’re leaving?”

“No,” he said above the sounds of the ocean, “because I get to start the rest of my life with you.” 

Yuri smirked, looked back to make sure no one was watching them. Then he straddled Otabek’s lap and kissed him like he’d been craving. He must have been wanting it too, because the effort was returned for a few golden minutes. 

When Otabek carefully pushed back, he let himself whine in frustration. 

“Slow,” he reminded gently, “please, tiger.”

“We could go slow,” Yuri said, too quiet and low to feign innocence. 

“At home, in our bed,” Otabek added firmly. “When I’m ready. Okay?” 

Yuri pouted his lip, but nodded. 

“I still want you in every way,” he reassured, pulled Yuri in close, arms encircled around his waist. “Just not here, on a rock.” 

He rolled his eyes, but they were both smiling.

“And you better not laugh the first time, my balls are about as blue as the fucking ocean.” 

Yuri laughed easily with him, nuzzled against him affectionately. Yuri would never take it for granted again, to be so close to him. 

“This whole open communication thing is kinda hot, we should keep it up,” Yuri murmured, half joking. 

“Oh we have to, it’s on Victor’s checklist.” 

Yuri groaned loudly, even though Otaek was chuckling softly, shaking his head.

“That’s faster than a cold shower,” he lamented, “has to be some kind of record.” 

Otabek ran his hand up and down Yuri’s back. They watched and listened to the waves, the last of Malibu they would get. If Otabek wasn’t going to be back, neither was Yuri. 

“Are you afraid?” He asked, a bit needlessly. 

Otabek nodded instantly, “Terrified.”

Then softer, “I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore.” 

Yuri backed up, held Otabek’s face in his hands so they were eye to eye.

“Hey, we’re all proud of you.  _ I’m _ so proud of you,” he paused, kissed his forehead. “You’re going to have to forgive yourself.” 

Otabek nodded, pulled him close again. It wasn’t going to happen overnight. But if it was always darkest before the dawn, then things were about to get really interesting. 

“We should get you to bed, early flight tomorrow.” 

As they walked back, they said a silent goodbye to the beach. Yuri was more than happy to help Otabek pack. 

  
  
  
  
  


After dramatic hugs and goodbyes from some of the staff in the morning (and a cringe-inducing promise from Victor that he would see them soon) they were in a car on a surprisingly quick ride to LAX, and then finally seated in a familiar private plane. They were late, because Serik and Holly were already waiting. Erzahn wasn’t there, probably still charging in the back. 

Holly watched them closely. 

They had side-by-side seats but they weren’t using them very effectively. Yuri’s long legs were over Otabek’s lap, and his head nestled in Yuri’s shoulder. It was hard to tell which one was cradling the other. While they were waiting for takeoff, Otabek would kiss his cheek and try to hide the smile that crossed his lips. Sometimes Yuri would smirk and kiss him fully, just because he could. 

“What are you looking at?” 

It was Erzhan, stepping onboard and walking over to Serik, who was curled up against the wall in his seat in the other aisle. He mumbled something as he locked his phone, but Erzahn pushed his beanie down over his face before he could defend himself. 

“You messed up my hair,” he grumbled as he took the beanie off, putting it back on with careful precision, checking how his curls poked out in the phone’s camera. Yuri watched him, amused. Whatever was going on with Serik, it was making him  _ act _ seventeen. So weird. 

Erzhan gave them one look over, and didn’t sit down. “Well, I was going to wait to show you this until we got home, but i’ve been informed we may have some company waiting.”

Otabek sat up, weary and fearful, “What is it now?”

It was easier than saying,  _ haven’t I been through enough? _

Erzhan pulled a rolled magazine out of his pocket, handing it over face-down before he sat next to Holly. Otabek took it, immediately turning it over. 

They were met with Yuri’s face, splashed across the front cover of  _ Eros _ . It was from the photoshoot after he’d broken the old radio. The headline was printed across the bottom in huge red letters.

_ The Red Angels: On Fire Or Burning Out? _

Yuri looked up, confused. Erzhan glanced at his watch, then back at them. 

“Well Yuri, welcome to your fifteen minutes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;) 
> 
> An additional present for y’all since today is a special day. Here is Otabek’s portion of the tracklist for the album. The next half will be included in chapter 12. If I can request a present (since it’s my b’day and all) i would love some interpretations of the song titles and heck, if you want to throw in some lyrics, they may just make it to the final cut! I love everyone who supports this fic so much, it’s my baby and as much as I have fun writing it, I hope that with this chapter y’all start to see the fun and the healing and the meaning of this story as it has grown. Thank you for everything x 
> 
> (PS - I'm already quite far into chapter 12, and it's my favorite so far)  
>  __  
> \- Lucky Seven  
>  \- Tiger Head (explicit)  
> \- Hold on Angel   
> \- Roses  
> \- Holly, go home  
> \- Plastic stars   
> \- Hollow’s eve (explicit) 
> 
> _\- (hidden track by Otabek & Serik Altin)_


	12. Elevate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> already another update! I really love this chapter, so I hope y'all feel the same.

“What the fuck is this?”

Yuri was staring at his own face, front-cover glossy and broken. He looked like a sociopathic prom queen. He looked like he’d just killed a person, not a radio.

“At least you look really hot,” Otabek observed beside him as he peered at the cover.

Ignoring him, Yuri quickly flipped open the magazine, searching for an explanation.

“I didn’t even do the interview, how did this happen?” He accused in Holly’s direction, though she looked just as surprised as everyone else. The only one unbothered was Erzhan. Serik hadn’t gotten out of his seat, but he was watching with piqued interest.

“Page twenty-seven,” The eldest muttered as he cross his legs, reaching for Holly’s hand as they started their ascension into the air.

He found the page quickly, muttering curses under his breath as he took it all in. Three pages of text stared back at him, not counting a whole other page that was just dedicated to his face. They held the better shots from the photoshoot, before the breakdown.

He skimmed the words, vision flashing from a hazy pink to bright red in anger.

It wasn’t good press, to say the least.

“Just 21, Plisetsky is barely of legal drinking age but has taken more delight in illegal ventures. He was spotted earlier this week in Malibu entering a treatment center for substance abuse, the same facility where his boyfriend (Almaty’s Fire lead singer Otabek Altin) checked in at the beginning of June for the same purpose,” Yuri read aloud. “This is making it sound like I’m a crazy drug addict.” 

“I exist in parenthesis now,” Otabek observed, and Yuri thought he was way too amused with this. “At least what they’re saying about me is true.”

“It gets worse,” Erzhan said tiredly.

Yuri skimmed down a bit, flashing through a timeline of the past two years that was more or less true (had he followed a few bands around? Sure. Been a groupie? Of course, but the number of band members predicted was a tad inflated. But that part about him and Otabek snorting coke as a ritual before every show? Well, it wasn't really a ritual per say, and not anymore. Did he have a diva-level breakdown at the photoshoot? some might say so. )

Then he saw those dreaded words.

A reliable source.

Only, was it ever really?

“If it wasn’t for Yuri, he [Altin] would have never even touched hard drugs. He’s just been using bands as a stepping stone for himself, and what better way to slow someone down than distract them with drugs? They [Almaty’s Fire] were supposed to be the band that makes it, but if The Red Angels outsell them, we all will know whose fault it is.”

After Yuri read the quote, there was an uncomfortable, heavy silence. The horrible truth about the press was that even if the lies were blatant, there was also some truth hidden between the lines.

Yuri had a strong suspicion that the ‘reliable source’ was that girl he’d run into at the party, and the morning when he was looking for Otabek. Whoever she was, Yuri had to hand it to her, she could piece together a convincing story. He could see that from the outside, what was written in those pages seemed totally plausible. The rest of the article painted a grim picture, apparently everyone in the band hated Yuri and it’s caused a lasting feud between its members. The only thing the article seemed to leave out was any account of actual stage performances.

“Of course I’m the one that gets blamed,” he muttered under his breath, feeling hot tears burning at the surface. “It’s always the blonde bitch’s fault.”

“Yura,” Otabek said gently, taking the magazine from him. “Don’t read anymore of this, anyone who really knows you will know that this is garbage.”

“Is it though? Some of what it says is true.”

He let the tears spill over then, his pale face flushed pink with frustration.

“What’s your genius plan then? I know you have one,” he hurled at Erzhan across the aisle. “Should we call up the Chelsea and see if number one-hundred is available? Or should we start a rumor that I have a hit out on Otabek’s head so I can sell a fucking album? Or do I get my own exciting new narrative behind door number three?”

“Yuri,” Holly said brokenly, but didn’t move to comfort him. Even Otabek was stilled beside him.

The tension was completely lost on Serik, who gasped quietly behind his phone.

“Woah,” he muttered, “the pictures got a ton of likes on instagram.”

Yuri took the magazine from Otabek and threw it in the direction of Serik’s head, but he missed. Serik stuck his tongue out in response.

Erzhan peered at his watch, as if he’d actually timed out fifteen minutes. “Now that you’ve had your little tantrum, are you ready to talk business?”

Yuri shook his head in disbelief, pushing the tears away from his face. He was being a child, but he didn’t care. This was permanent, it was always going to be the first big thing people remembered about him. His life was over.

Beside him, Otabek seemed to slowly come back to life. He ran his knuckles on the side of Yuri’s neck behind his ear, comforting him. Yuri had half a mind to push away, but he leaned into the touch. Even in his anger, he could see the subtle exchange going on between the two brothers.

Erzhan was looking at him expectantly, as if to continue. Otabek gently shook his head. There was a tilt to Erzhan’s head, and he blinked in surprise. Robots really were not built for acting. Yuri was going to write his own exposé about the dangers of AI.

Otabek sighed heavily, pressed a kiss against Yuri’s still warm cheek. Then he was speaking softly against the shell of his ear.

“Let’s go to the back so we can talk about this.”

Yuri looked at him quizzically, but got up and followed him towards the empty end of the plane anyway. A million thoughts ran through his mind, and he landed on the worst of them.

“I’m not going back to New York,” he said as they sat down. “If you think that after what we’ve just been through that you’re going to leave me because of what that bitch said in an article-“

“Angel,” Otabek whispered painfully, cupping his cheek, “that’s not what this is. You’ve got to stop thinking I’m going to leave you stranded the first chance I get. I love you, and that has never been a lie.”

He wiped away a rebellious tear that had slipped away from Yuri’s control. He tried to steel himself, but it was useless around Otabek.

“Then why did Erzhan give you that look?” Yuri asked, “just tell me, I can’t be blindsided again.”

Otabek took a steadying breath.

“I swear, neither of us knew anything about that magazine, but we talked about how we can use the buzz around all this to our advantage. He’s taught me more in three weeks than he ever even tried to before, about being a leader. And looking at everything from a business standpoint, there’s an opportunity I just don’t think we should pass up.”

Yuri narrowed his eyes slightly.

“I think we should disband The Red Angels.”

He recoiled from Otabek immediately, anger reigniting like a blue flame.

“What the fuck?” He said, loud enough to carry through the cabin, “ _We_? Where the fuck is the _we_ in that? So what, you expect me to just go back to being your little groupie? Sing backup and dance behind you? Wear a short little skirt for easy access? Should I just get on my knees onstage so you can fuck me over in front of everyone?”

He’d slipped into Russian after the first question and was speaking with his hands too, but Otabek calmly took them into his own.

“Stop it Yuri,” he said evenly, pressing the palms of Yuri’s hands against his chest. Over the tiger, and over his heart. It instantly calmed him, though he could still feel the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears. “Don’t be like that, not with me.”

He kept Yuri’s hands there and met his ocean eyes with a hard, steady gaze.

“I’m not trying to erase anything you’ve done. I’m trying to say that you deserve this too, and we both deserve our best shot. Just listen to me, and if you still don’t agree, then you can go your own way with the music.”

Yuri didn’t like the sound of that but he bit his tongue, nodded.

“We are both strong on our own, but we have different strengths, different voices, ranges. We both bring something to the table, there’s no denying that. But do you remember what we sound like together? Do you remember how easy it was when we writing together in Victor’s office? That’s how it could be all the time, angel. That’s how it should have always been. I’ve tried so hard to get us to this point, but I have to put my pride aside and look at the truth. If we do this together, we could be so much better than if we are on our own. I don’t want to see you front row or waiting backstage, I was to stand beside you. We could make something that’s never been done before.”

Otabek’s eyes were wide and sincere, radiating a raw hope that Yuri hadn’t seen in him in so long.

He prodded gently, “What about the album?”

Otabek deflated, but only slightly, “I have seven songs. The EP you were recording, that’s five. Leaves two more for us.”

Yuri raised a brow, “Duets?”

Otabek nodded, and Yuri pondered on.

“What about Mila and Sara?”

“The more the merrier. I don’t think an extra guitar and a keyboard will hurt us. Gives me the chance to perform more, or take over the acoustic numbers. Besides, they fit in great, despite the upheaval.”

Otabek watched him closely, like he could see his mind working, processing.

“And you can promise that I won’t be the Yoko Ono of this shit?”

He smirked, and Otabek took his hand, hid his own smile as he pressed a kiss to Yuri’s skin.

“Never, baby.”

Yuri bit his bottom lip, his tone dropping to tease.

“Mm, I’m not sure. Maybe you should beg for it?”

Otabek’s hopeful eyes never faded, and he took the bait.

“Please, be my muse and my partner in this. Please share the stage with me, and my tour bus bunk. Please let me continue to write songs about you and exploit our trysts for the the sake of rock ballads. Please go around the world with me on tour, until we are one hundred and get kicked offstage.”

Over the course of the speech, Yuri had softened, a peek of a smile on his lips as he’d straddled Otabek’s thighs. They were so close again, heads together, breath overlapping each other’s. Fingers trailed down his arm, now familiar and intimate, an unspoken bond between them.

“Will you, Yuri Plisetsky, please do me the honor of taking my hand. . . in rock band?”

Yuri giggled, barely nodding before kissing him. He moaned into the touch, happy. He pulled Yuri close, hands touching any bare skin he could reach. He pulled away too quick, Yuri chasing after and landing on his cheek, his jawbone. 

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Yes, I will,” Yuri muttered, smile radiating against him.

“Hmm?”

Yuri kissed his face, repeating himself like a chorus.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes. I will. I do.”

 

When they returned to their original seats, it was almost time to land. Serik was asleep, and across the aisle so was Erzhan. He had taken off his overcoat, resting underneath it where he lay curled up with his head on Holly’s lap. She was awake and looking out the window, humming as she carded her hands through his hair.

When they came back to sit down, hand in hand again, she smiled lightly at them.

“It got awful quiet back there, did you two work it out?”

Yuri looked knowingly at Otabek for a fleeting moment, then nodded casually. They most certainly had.

 

 

When Erzhan woke up, he immediately got to work. The first thing he did was kiss Holly, and then he was back to business mode. He was on the phone and his laptop at once, handling things like there wasn’t a moment to spare.

Yuri felt warm and easy and he rest against Otabek, almost falling asleep as they landed.

The wheels had just barely touched down when Erzhan was addressing them.

“Here, take these.”

Yuri opened his eyes curiously, and found that he was holding out two pairs of sunglasses. They took them, and he had more for Serik and Holly. He noticed they were all slightly different versions of the same classic design.

“What, are we trying to get a brand deal or something?”

“Not trying,” he grinned conspiratorially. “you will have one after this.”

Yuri didn’t really know what he was talking about, but as they came to a full and complete stop he put them on his head, standing up to stretch.

Their luggage would be unloaded into the car Erzhan had waiting, so Otabek only had his guitar case on his back and Yuri holding his hand, looking up at him.

“You ready for this?” he questioned softly.

Otabek looked at him, expression a mix between several emotions at once.

“I have to be,” he replied, and tilted Yuri’s chin up with his thumb, kissed him soft and chaste.

Erzhan arranged them in the aisle, first Serik and Holly, then himself, and then Otabek and Yuri. He gave Yuri a firm look as the doors opened, “Not a word from you.

When he turned back, Yuri stuck out his tongue briefly. Serik smirked at it, shook his head.

They all put on their sunglasses, and then started to leave, Serik being the first to venture out. Yuri could hear it then, the click click of a camera. They moved quickly, until it was Yuri’s turn to stand beside Otabek on the stairs than led out of the plane, and back onto the ground of treasure island.

It wasn’t like in the movies, when there was a swarm of them. There were only maybe five, Yuri kept his head tilted down, focused on not falling down the stairs.

Paparazzi. Paps. Creatures with cameras always rolling. Whatever you wanted to call them, they were there and they each seemed to have a lot of questions.

Yuri looked at Otabek as they took they last step. He had to bite back a smile, because this was how Otabek came back. He looked effortlessly cool in his leather jacket and skinny jeans and his guitar case on his back, the sunglasses hiding how tired his eyes were.

He wrapped a protective arm around Yuri’s shoulder, and they walked towards the car, heads held high.

They were asking about things pulled right from that article. If it was true that they’d both just returned from a stint in rehab. If they were clean, if they weren’t. If the band was fighting, asking why the bassist had left. If the album was postponed. And over and over again, what was next?

Yuri tried really hard to be good, and they almost made it into the car. It was just the last question that got him.

“Yuri, what about your band? What about The Red Angels?”

He turned his head cooly, and the clicks increased.

“Oh, you didn’t know?” He said, a wicked grin playing on his lips, “The Red Angels are dead.”

He got into the car beside Otabek in the back and shut the door. Erzhan turned in his seat to look at him, sunglasses pushed down the bridge of his nose.

“If you weren’t family, you’d be fired right about now,” he said, but there was a playful lilt to it. Yuri smirked back at him, watching out the window as the car pulled away.

 

“So what, are you like our new manager now?” Serik asked his brother as they were walking up the driveway together.

“What, like you had one worth mentioning before?” He chuckled, and the pair of them disappeared inside.

Otabek stood at the edge with him, and Yuri watched him take it all back in. The van, parked and retired. The house he’d had so many memories in, only a few of them good. Everything in there was a faded trigger.

“Did you clean it out, even the basement?”

Yuri kissed the back of his hand, “Especially the basement.”

He still didn’t move.

Holly came up behind them, looking at Otabek too.

“Hey, you don’t have to sleep here if it bothers you,” she started, soothing and quiet. “Jarr will take the room, and I can move in with you guys when I’m not back in the city.”

Otabek tensed, looked at her for a long time. It was a shift in perception that could be felt in the air. Then finally, a curt nod. Holly smiled at him, and then she disappeared behind the front door too.

“Do you want to leave?” Yuri murmured.

“No, we can go in. It will be good to pack.”

It would be good to move on, Yuri agreed. Still, he had to hold Otabek’s hand tightly in his own and take that first step for them.

 

Inside, the memories came flooding back to Yuri all the same. It was new though, now. Mila and Sara had been left on their own, so in their boredom they’d done a bit of feng shui, a bit of redecorating.

In the kitchen, Erzhan and Jarrod were meeting for, as far as Yuri knew, the first time.

“In an empty pool, really?” Erzhan was saying, dipping a tea bag into one of Otabek’s mugs that he’d stolen from the cabinet. “I thought that was only in the movies.”

Jarrod laughed, and he never faked that. “I can show you sometime, you’ll probably do better than Yuri.”

Holly was watching their interaction from the comfort of her favorite chair in a new corner, smiling smugly over the rim of her own mug of tea.

At the sight of Otabek in the doorway, Jarrod stilled, smile slowly fading.

“Hey Jarr,” Otabek greeted quietly, almost afraid. Everyone watched as Jarrod slowly crossed the room to meet him.

Yuri looked up at him nervously, they hadn't talked about this. He had no idea how either of them was about to react.

“I’m so sorry,” Otabek said, each word sounding like an admission of guilt, a heavy weight. “To you and Holly, for all the times -“

Jarrod cut him off, held a hand up.

“It’s okay man, that’s all I needed to hear.”

Then, to everyone’s shock, Jarrod crumpled into tears. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Otabek, burying his tears in his shoulder. They both held tight, a family’s hold.

Yuri was getting real tired of all the crying, but he couldn’t deny the sweet moment. He couldn’t see for sure, but he thought Otabek was tearing up a bit too.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” Jarrod repeated softly.

 

 

They went into the room, and Otabek noticed the rose before anything else.

“We can take it down, preserve the petals.”

He nodded, but looked at Yuri with such affection that he couldn’t bear it. Yuri had to go about distracting himself so that he didn’t do something stupid like lock the door and throw himself at Otabek. He’d already been spoiled on the plane.

They got out bags and boxes and started to pack. It didn’t take more than four hours, venturing back out for food in the middle of it and then returning to finish up. Otabek didn’t own much, he preferred having just enough to bring on tour and not much else.

They kept the records and the cassette tapes out though, and Yuri convinced Otabek to lay down on the floor with him.

“I listened to these when I was alone,” he explained softly.

Otabek stroked his side, the curve of his hip. “Did you really miss me all that much?”

Yuri rolled his eyes, “Like you were any better off.”

They lingered on kisses and conversations, and even with boxes and bags around them, the room didn’t feel empty. It just wasn’t their home anymore, a new story would be good for it.

“We record tomorrow, thank god,” Otabek murmured against his ear. “I want nothing more than to throw myself into this album.”

It was the first time Yuri had ever heard him admit thanks to something higher than himself.

 

 

The new studio was different, smaller and more genuine. Erzhan went with them and made it seem like they were a very serious band. The people there didn’t smile fakely and act like they knew them or wanted something from them, they were just working. The first day was easy, just getting things arranged and getting back into the swing of things. They would go home to sleep, but other than that the next week and a half would be spent in the studio, finishing the album. Somewhere in there, they had to shoot the cover and celebrate a birthday. For a normal band, with three new members, it would be incredibly rushed and stressful. But it was the distraction and the purpose that Otabek desperately needed.

They didn’t get much done in the way of recording that first day, but there was a moment when Otabek went into the vocal booth on his own. He had to re-record everything anyway, the demo versions he’d done before Malibu were all but useless, and under their new contract they didn’t have rights to them anyway. He decided he wanted to record his main vocals for _Hollow’s Eve_ right away, while his voice was still just a bit raw. Everyone else had already left for lunch, only Yuri and Erzhan were watching from the control room.

Yuri watched as Otabek transformed when he sang, eyes closed and pouring everything into the mic. It had been a good idea to record it first, because it wasn’t the type of song that needed to be perfected and polished into chart-topping packaging. It wasn’t for that, it was for Otabek. The recording booth could double as a confessional, if need be.

While Yuri had grown accustomed to the sound, it was the first time Erzhan had really heard Otabek sing unedited and unadorned. He watched in amusement as it soaked in, Erzhan’s eyes going wide in amazement like he couldn’t believe his little brother was capable of sounding like that.

“I know,” Yuri commented pridefully, “he really is that good.”

“I’ve always known that was his blessing, but I’ve never seen him tell a story like this.” Erzhan murmured.

When Otabek stepped out of the booth, he exchanged that look with his brother, like they didn’t need to say anything but they both knew what was meant.

He walked with Yuri alone to the diner they had gone to on their unofficial first date, but they didn’t stay long. Stomachs full and their work done, they went home and fell asleep on Yuri’s bed in their clothes.

 

 

Recording was kind of like finals week in college, according to Holly. They worked all night, fueled by coffee and fast food, and half the time they weren’t sure if any of it would pay off. At least they had a damn good time of it.

Serik’s birthday came first, and just being in the drum booth to play his new parts on the studio drums was enough of a gift, but of course Erzhan had to be extra and buy him a whole new kit to bring on tour, along with the other usual gifts. It was the first time his kit was customized with their new band logo, and Serik explored his new instrument like he was seeing a lover for the first time.

“Oh, we’re going to be very close,” he murmured, stroking the smooth gold cymbals.

He put his old drums in Yuri’s basement, because even though he was moving on, he couldn’t part with the original. They had far-off plans to convert the basement into a home recording studio, so Yuri was grateful.

It had been a full day, and just before they left they turned off the lights in the studio, and Holly carried in a homemade cake with eighteen candles lit. They all sang to him and he smiled in the glow of them, then made a wish and blew them all out. Claps all around, then the lights were back on and the cake was being cut and passed out until it was gone.

Serik facetimed with his parents for a short while, and Yuri noticed how quiet Otabek was, though he did greet them and speak to them. Yuri could hear that they asked him how he was, and he gave the automatic answer he gave to everyone he didn’t mind lying to. Fine.

He watched them sit down behind the new drums, talking quietly. He turned off the mic, let them have their privacy. Yuri was sketching roses in his journal when they came out a while later.

“And you’ll text me when you get home?” Otabek was saying, and he was trying to hide that he sounded worried.

Serik was affectionately annoyed. “Yes аға,” he sighed, “I’ll be good, you know, not just fine.”

Otabek scruffed up his hair, hugged him tight. “Alright, get out of here then.”

Serik waved goodbye and practically skipped out of the room. Yuri didn’t ask any questions, he remembered what it was like. It wasn’t that long ago, but he’d been a different kind of eighteen, and Serik had a much better chance to enjoy it than Yuri had.

They stayed for a few more hours, just the two of them. They finished one of their duets, and it was the first time Yuri had managed to sing it without wanting to cry. _Broken Glass_ started with a clip of their voices from one of the cassette tapes they had found. Yuri hadn’t heard it when he’d been listening to them before to get through the weeks alone. It was good he hadn’t, because he might have destroyed them too.

Otabek had been singing to him, soft and slurred. They must have been in the back of the van on the mattress, because there was a song Serik liked playing faintly on the radio in the background.

_How much did you take_? Yuri asked him on the tape.

Otabek’s grainy recorded voice responded back, _Not enough._

The song was a reimagining of that last phone call, played on Otabek’s acoustic. It was perfect for a duet, but Yuri knew it was something they would only play live a few times. It was just too hard, but getting it out, transforming it, helped to distance themselves from it. Sara would go back in and add the soft piano melody she played for the song Yuri had written, _Stupid_. The songs were melodically and lyrically tied together like a red thread was tied between the tracks. Something about turning their pain into something people could sing along to was coldly freeing. There was a strange sort of aftercare after recording a song like that. They lay on the sofa in the control room together, quiet and sleepy.

Otabek didn’t need to ask if he was okay, because they didn’t lie to each other. Eventually, they found the strength to go home. They walked out of the studio into the cool night air, and it helped to reinvigorate them to breathe new air.

As they walked to the car, Yuri thought of Serik. He was out there somewhere, being eighteen.

“Do you know what would make me feel better right now?” He prompted Otabek as they slid into the front seats.

“Hmm?”

Yuri smiled playfully, and it made Otabek mirror him.

“Midnight slushie run?”

“You got it, tiger. But if you get caught stealing M&M’s, i’m not bailing you out,” he joked.

They got home a little past two, and fell asleep with their tongues still blue.

 

 

When Otabek worked on the album, everything was loud. When he worked on everything else, it was quiet, almost not there if you didn’t know what to listen to.

Yuri would catch him meditating in the middle of the day, sometimes in the hallway of the recording studio. One morning he woke up to find Otabek gone and almost panicked, only to find a note on his pillow explaining that he’d gone for a run. Yuri felt guilty for the way he was still wary, putting on his old Fleetwood Mac shirt and sitting by the living room window with a cup of tea, watching for him. When he saw Otabek jogging back towards the house, he got up and made it look like he’d been busy in the kitchen making breakfast the whole time. Otabek walked inside a moment later, panting and sweaty and in need of coffee. Yuri carded his hand through his damp hair, scrunching up his nose. Otabek kissed it and said good morning. Sometimes, it was that simple.

Other times, it was hard to figure out. They would be in the middle of a meal and all of a sudden he couldn’t finish it. They would be getting up in the morning to go to the studio, getting dressed in the dark, and Otabek would be almost impossible to get out of bed, completely unresponsive. Sometimes he would just stare at Yuri with open eyes and just not move.

He didn’t try to understand all of the time, because the reasoning was probably just as foreign to Otabek. Yuri just stayed, and depending on the day that was either the hardest thing or the easiest.

 

 

Erzhan had to leave eventually and Holly would be going with him, but they promised to be back in a few weeks for the album launch. On that morning when they were leaving, Holly promised everyone one last breakfast at the old house. Otabek walked up the driveway that morning a little easier, but still held tight to Yuri’s hand.

After consuming a superhuman amount of butter and syrup, Yuri was walking to the bathroom to wash his sticky hands when he spotted an even sweeter scene.

Otabek was sitting with Holly in the living room, and they were talking alone. If he stopped in the middle of the hallway, they would see him, so he passed by and tried to reign in his smile. Of course, they didn’t stop him from asking about it later.

“Has Erz told your parents about Holly?” He asked cautiously as they walked home. It had been a sore subject as of late. Yuri didn’t quite understand why Otabek’s parents were even more distant from him after Malibu, when the whole ordeal had brought the three sons closer than ever. “Because it doesn’t seem like the kind of thing your mom would -“

“Of course she doesn’t approve,” Otabek finished for him. “It’s hard for them to accept that even their golden son has strayed from tradition. But she hasn’t met Holly yet, so she hasn’t said much.”

“You’re defending Holly?” He questioned, “Where did that come from, I thought you couldn’t stand her.”

Yuri was fishing for information after seeing them talking, and he wasn’t being subtle about it.

“Well, E loves her, so she’s kind of like a sister to me now, so I guess I can’t hate her anymore.”

That caught Yuri off guard, so much so that he stopped in the middle of the street. Otabek smirked, knowing he’d caused it, and let Yuri pull him in against the pastel background of a house they had been passing by to let people walk past.

“I know you saw us talking, Yura.”

Yuri shrugged, “So, what did you have to talk about?”

“I apologized to her,” Otabek admitted, “She deserved her own, not just tacked onto the apology I gave to Jarrod. She’s not the same person she was two years ago. Hell, she’s not the same person she was two months ago. None of us are anymore.”

Yuri ran his fingers down Otabek’s arm, “I already know she forgave you, but what about you forgiving her?”

“I still think she’s selfish and has hurt people, but she could have said the same about me and worse but she never did,” he sighed, voice going softer like he was saddened by the reality. “I also don’t think Erzhan would be back in my life if she hadn’t told him how bad off I was.”

There was no way to know whether or not that was true, but Yuri had a sneaking suspicion that if they’d both just put their stubborn pride aside, they could have been as close as they were now the whole time. Men.

Before Yuri could ask anymore questions, Otabek kissed him in the middle of the castro district, halfway between home and the studio. People passed by, no one caring who they were. They weren’t even the only couple on that street to stop in the middle of everyday life and remind themselves how lucky they were to have each other.

 

 

No one was surprised when they finished the album early with the hours they put in. The last night was a bit of a party within the studio. As promised, Holly and Erzhan were back just in time to join them in the studio for the first listen to the rough cut of the album, though both were a little bit jet-lagged. Their work was done, but there was more to be arranged before it was truly finished. Still, it was wonderful to see Otabek’s shoulders relax, and his brothers with him again. 

As cathartic as some of the songs were, like _Broken Glass_ , most of them were good time songs. They were a rock band, after all. The album was their story, each track a chapter.

There were love songs to Yuri, like _Roses_ and _Plastic Stars_ and _Hold on Angel_. There were songs framed around the opportunity for guitar and drum solos, like _Tiger Head_ , _Backseat mattress_ , and Yuri’s favorite that he’d penned, _Baby x 7_ , which Jarrod loved playing bass for and called Yuri’s version of that Hole song, _Celebrity Skin_.

Songs like _Lucky Seven_ and _That One Nirvana Song_ were what Otabek called heart songs, the type that ended up on mixtapes and were passed down over the years.

They played a little heavy on the punk influence on the other duet they’d done, aptly named with a long, cheeky title. _If this album tanks, we’ll sell the tape_ was an inside joke between Yuri and Otabek. There were tapes, of course, but not the kind that was alluded to in the song. It was a coy jab at the article, and at everything they would face as a couple in a band together. Everyone wanted to know the sordid details of what it felt like to fuck a rockstar, the glamorized fantasy of it. So they put it all there, explicitly, and kept just enough of the truth for themselves, skirted around details just enough to keep people guessing. It was as if to say, you want to know what goes down backstage? You’ll have to buy the fucking album to find out.

Otabek had written _Holly, go home_ as an olive branch to the song’s namesake, although anyone who heard the song might not think so from hearing it. It was a pop-punk feel, a Summery song about a girl who was vapid but irresistible to everyone around her, and only wanted to be more interesting. The first time they played it, Holly threw her head back laughing. She hugged Otabek in thanks, because now she was immortalized in a song.

They played it a second time, Yuri and Holly dancing in the studio like they were hearing the song at a show. It was so reminiscent of the type of music played by the kinds of bands they would get all dolled up for in New York.

“The tumblr girls are going to eat this shit up,” Yuri laughed, both his hands up as he playfully grinded back on Holly. Serik’s eloquent reaction to the song? “It’s a bop.”

Even Erzhan nodded along to the beat.

Things mellowed out with the album’s more depressing songs, _Broken Glass_ and _Stupid_. Everyone agreed they were beautiful, and even more so if you were on the outside looking in. Of course, they all knew the truth written between the lines.  

Otabek sang a cleaner, slightly more optimistic version of _Hollow’s Eve_ for them live on his electric, with Serik next to him on his cajón. It was altered slightly for tour. They couldn’t have too many songs that might make people cry, that would kill the vibe.

Of course, they contradicted that quickly with the hidden track. There were fourteen songs listed on the album, and the order of the tracklist was still up for debate. However, the hidden song was automatically the fifteenth track. There would be seven minutes of silence after the fourteenth song, then it would start. 

Yuri had known about it, read the lyrics, but hearing the two of them play it was altogether new.

It was sung completely in Kazakh, and anyone who cared enough could translate it. It was their song, part of it about their childhood and what they’d been through together, and part of it a prayer for the future. Erzhan’s eyes shone with pride and he subtly excused himself from the room, not even bothering to make an excuse that he needed to take a call. Even Holly, who had no idea what they were singing, was sobbing by the end of it.

The song’s title was simple, one word. _Brother._

After that, they needed something to brighten the mood. They needed a song that wrapped everything up with a bow.

Otabek pulled Yuri over with a knowing smile. They had been saving their third duet, not letting anyone hear their final vocals. He grabbed his acoustic, rubbing his thumb over the tally marks Yuri had carved onto the back. He kissed him quick, and then started to play.

_No Matter What_ was a disgustingly sweet love song that played like a vow. It was a promise between the two of them, and within that a promise to their band. Their family.

No matter what, there was a flame in them that would never go out.

 

 

The happiness of finishing the album was furthered by the excitement of shooting the cover. Everyone was in a good mood on the day, with the stress of recording gone they slept like babies and were well-rested and bright-eyed for the cameras.

The concept for the cover was inspired by one of Yuri’s (and rock history’s) favorite albums. Two people on the cover, posed perfectly, in black and white.

Otabek wore all black, his favorite leather jacket. His eyes were down, locked on where Yuri stood in front of him. Yuri faced towards him and away from the camera. He was in an identical leather jacket, showing off the band’s new logo as it was printed on the back. It was a rose set aflame, and Yuri was looking at the camera with a challenge in his eyes.

For the back, they took a few options. All of them were different arrangements of group shots. They all had different variants of black outfits, with pops of red (and Jarrod’s pink hair). Whatever didn’t make the back cover would be used in the lyric sheet that would fold out into a poster. One they were standing, one sitting on the floor leaning on each other. Yuri liked that one the most because he was wearing his red velvet dress and his fishnets, long legs folded at the knees and spread out in front of him, very ungentlemanly of him. In the real shot he was covered, but he thought it would be funny to put the explicit content warning there. He texted Erzhan the idea, but he was not as amused.

Once the album was done, they settled into a routine, and that was never good. They wouldn’t be on tour for almost another two months.

Mostly, they stayed out of trouble by staying at home. It was like they were a boring married couple in a movie. It felt the most like that whenever they were getting ready for bed. Maybe it was because they were in this weird limbo between the album and tour, as well as the limbo of being together again but not fucking. Yuri would love to be able to say that touring and sex hadn’t been such a huge part of them before, but that would be like saying that drugs weren’t just as important to them. It was the literal trifecta that defined their lives. One branch always poisoned the other.

Otabek had said he would tell Yuri when he was ready, and Yuri was being patient.

And now, they ate dinner at eight and were brushing their teeth and climbing into bed for nine. Like all couples in movies, they turned down the bed and gossiped about other people before they got into bed to purposefully not have sex.

“I think Serik is seeing someone,” Yuri brought up and he tossed a decorative pillow to the floor.

“I’m pretty sure he is,” Otabek agreed, peeling back a lavender-scented sheet. “He hasn’t spilled the beans yet, but there was this girl he told me about before Malibu, I’m betting it’s her.”

They climbed into bed, each turning on their side. Otabek wrapped his arms around Yuri, the big spoon for the night.

“He’s eighteen now, do you think we should give him the talk?”

It was a joke, but Otabek grumbled behind him. Yuri laughed, pulling his fingers up to kiss the back of his hand.

“I’m working on it,” he said, pressing their feet together under the covers. “But honestly I think it’s the furthest thing from his mind. If anyone will follow our parents’ original plans, it’s him.”

Yuri nodded, his next words wrapped in a yawn, “Across the hall has been quiet.”

When Erzhan and Holly had gone back home for a week after Malibu, Yuri knew they would come back, and he was glad to have the house to themselves for just a while. It was such a contrast to how it had been just a few months ago, when Holly leaving had felt like a punch to the gut. They’d been so busy with the album, he almost forgot to miss them.

Then one morning before studio, he’d gone downstairs to make coffee and was thankfully fully clothed, because Erzhan was just sitting on their couch with a cup of tea. Holly was all glowy-skinned in the kitchen, humming. She told Yuri that they had come in early to stay for the weekend, and they were going sailing. Yuri had only been happy, because it had meant they would be there for the last studio day, and they would be there until the album launch. Despite the early arrival, if there was anything happening in the other bedroom Otabek and Yuri had been blissfully unaware of it. Of course, Otabek had a theory as to why. 

“Of course it’s quiet,” Otabek muttered, pulling him closer until they were indistinguishable from each other. “She makes him wear a ball gag when she pegs him.”

Yuri pushed back lightly with his elbow, but giggled all the same.

“You need to stop speculating about how kinky your brother is,” he chided, “it’s weird.”

“It’s not speculation, it’s observation. Think about it Yura, he’s in control all the time. It makes sense.”

“I don’t want to think about your brother getting fucked, babe.”

“Fine, fine,” Otabek murmured, letting the comfortable silence have its beat.

Yuri smiled against his pillow. He thought they would go to sleep, but Otabek wasn’t closing his eyes, Yuri could tell without looking back.

“Alright, we can bring up the elephant in the room,” Yuri sighed, finally turning over to face him. “We talked about everyone else’s relationship issues, might as well talk about ours.”

Otabek smirked, bit his lip.

“I just still don’t agree with you, angel. I’m sorry, I know this is what you want, but I just don’t know if I can stand with you on this.”

“Well we have to decide, Otya,” Yuri murmured, pulling out the affection card. “This is one of the biggest decisions of our lives together.”

They were talking about the tracklist again.

The album was the new invisible third person in their bed. They slept with it each night, tapped out melodies onto each other’s bare skin. They whispered lyrics to each other in their sleep. But more than anything, they mapped out the tracklist.

They had agreed on the album cover right away. They had agreed that the first album should be self-titled, simply Almaty’s Fire. For the life of them, they could not agree on the order of the tracklist.

People always said the first year was the hardest.

“Track seven has to be roses,” Otabek restated his claim. “The lyrics are on me.”

He raised his forearm and pointed as proof.

“I still think it should be the new duet,” Yuri pushed back, but rubbed over the script just the same.

“But it was the first song I wrote you,” he replied, “the start of everything.”

Yuri brightened at the memory. He brought a hand up to rest against Otabek’s jawbone, tracing it teasingly.

“I still can’t believe you hit it once and then wrote a song about me,” he smirked wickedly, planting a kiss in just the corner of Otabek’s mouth.

“Mm, it was that good of a hit,” he murmured, kissing Yuri’s neck. “Where is that black teddy today, anyway? I think it needs a replay.”

Yuri laughed, pulling him up for a proper kiss.

“I think I’m starting to see your point,” he said, “it should be track seven.”

Otabek grinned against him, kissed him twice.

“But if that’s what we’re doing,” Yuri quickly added in, pressing a finger against Otabek’s lips to pause him. He pushed them out anyway, pecking Yuri’s pale fingertip, “then the duet has to be track fourteen.”

“Last song listed on the album? That’s a big deal.”

Yuri huffed, “I know what I said.”

Silence for a few moments, Otabek thinking. Then finally, a hand over his hipbone, “Okay, I can agree to that.”

Yuri gasped in faux shock, “Did we just reach a healthy compromise? What do we get for that, an iron-on patch? Should I text our life coach?”

Otabek rolled his eyes, pulled Yuri’s leg over his own hip and held the shape of his skull.

“Quit it, or I’ll have to take it back.”

He kissed Yuri softly as they had been doing, but the track sped up almost instantly.

Otabek had self-imposed boundaries for himself, and Yuri was trying his best to understand. He was patient, and it hadn’t been so awful. Otabek had given him head on the plane back from Malibu, but other than that it had all been very PG-13. He’d thought he was getting better at the whole patience thing,  but at the first roll of Otabek’s practiced hips, he briefly forgot the definition of the word.

“Beka,” he breathed out, pushing away gently, “we should cool down.”

“Why?” Otabek muttered, frowned slightly.

“You said-“

“I know what I said,” he smirked, throwing the words back. He licked his lips, hips rolling again. He was at Yuri’s neck, and it was more than distracting. “I said at home in our bed, when I’m ready.”

Yuri pulled back to look at him, eyes curious. They were home in their bed, at least.

He looked vulnerable in the moonlight, but sure.

“Touch me,” he whispered, “If you want to, I want it.”

Yuri didn’t answer, he just kissed him again. He trailed his fingers down Otabek’s stomach, feeling the muscles contract under his touch. He lingered on the soft line of hair under his navel, then slowly pushed at the waistband of the loose cotton sleep pants he wore.

Otabek was not quite half-hard when Yuri touched him. He let his fingers curl around, revelled in the reaction. A slight twitch, and his breath hitched.  

“Do you want me to get you off?” He whispered, asking for permission, a guideline to how far he could go.

“Yes,” Otabek confirmed with an enthusiastic nod. “Please.”

Yuri drew his hand back, let the wet in his mouth gather on his thumb and his first two fingers. Otabek tracked his movements as he brought his hand back to where it had been low between them, and the reaction was instant.

A sharp inhale, and Otabek gripped his wrist.

“Too much?”

A nod. Yuri pulled back a little, eyes downcast as he watched his movements. He loosened his grip until it was barely there, pressed his thumb against the tip, and gave a slow, gentle stroke. He focused his touch just there.

He looked back up at Otabek after a moment to gauge his reaction. He eyes were closed, lips beautifully parted. He might have looked like he’d fallen asleep, only the soft ah that was threaded onto his heavy exhale gave him away.

“Better?”

Another nod, slower.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, “just like that.”

Well, it certainly was an exercise in patience after all. They’d gone slow before, but it felt different. Before, everything they did had always been about intensity, and sex was no exception. Faster, deeper, harder, those were words his body was used to giving into whenever Otabek asked. But slower, gentler, more careful? That was new.

He felt like he was barely doing anything, certainly not enough, but it was somehow causing the right reaction. Yuri tried not to look down, tried to focus only on Otabek’s face, that was the reaction he cared about.

He looked so relaxed, so at peace. Almost meditative. Instead of the more obvious signals of pleasure that he was used to — curses and cries and skin red from possessive marking — this was excruciatingly subtle. It was in the gentle tilt of his head back against the pillow, the fluttering of his eyelashes as he fought to keep his eyes closed or push them half-open to peer up at Yuri’s face in the dim light. It was in the way he touched Yuri too, just the tips of his fingers circling the bone of Yuri’s wrist as his hand travelled down slowly, then back up again.

He felt like he should say something, but he wasn’t sure how to dirty talk gently. So he just kept his voice a soft whisper, and mused aloud as things came to mind.

“I remember those first days, when we couldn’t get enough of each other. I wasn’t ready to open up to it fully, but I knew there was something so different about you. I think I felt it the first time I kissed you.”

He had increased the tempo, just slightly, and Otabek hadn’t stopped him. If anything he was encouraged, because the sweetest thing happened. Another ah and teeth pressed into his bottom lip, and his toes curled.

“I think if we were to be really honest, we fell in love that first week. Almost three years ago, right here. I fell in love with you in this bed, when you were holding me. I had never felt like I mattered before, but with you I felt like maybe my life was meant for something more than what I had hoped for.”

Yuri stopped focusing on what he was doing with his hand altogether, his only thought was about keeping Otabek right where he was. He wanted him to know what Yuri had felt when he’d needed it the most. He wanted to make Otabek feel as loved, and more importantly as understood, as he had that first week.

“I was worried that we would lose a part of us when you went away, and I think we did. But this new part, it’s better. I had thought that maybe, because of how we’d been, that the love we had made before was wasted. But it’s still there. I can hear it in the album. I can see flashes of it whenever I get you to smile. I can feel it between us, even when we’re not touching.”

He contradicted what he’d just said, stroking over the tip again until Otabek whined softly, looked up at him with pleading eyes.

He nodded to answer an unasked question, and then made a request.

“Kiss me,” he whispered into the dark. Yuri answered him.

He didn’t move his hand any faster or do anything differently, but he poured himself into the kiss. He tried to make the kiss feel like a perfect song, just enough power, just enough build. Love layered over all of it.

He could tell when it pushed over for Otabek. He was not quite kissing back anymore, his mouth a frame for a sound he couldn’t manage to make just yet. He was moving less subtly, his hips on their own rhythm. He managed to look at Yuri with hazy eyes, and then he was undone.

The sound escaped him then, low and beautiful. Yuri tried to take it in his mouth, save it for later. It should be buried underneath a track, tucked secretly into a song.

Yuri had caught most of the result in his hand, and with a kiss over eyes that were now squeezed tightly shut, he carefully slipped out of their bed.

“Where are you going?” Otabek asked, voice only a rasp as he lay back against the pillows, sending harsh breaths through his nose.

“Tissue,” Yuri mumbled, only a few feet away.

Even softer, Otabek whispered again, “Why are you doing that?”

Yuri smirked to himself, shrugged even though he wasn’t being watched. Before, he might have just as easily have licked it from his hands after, greedy to have every single ounce that Otabek gave him.

“I just brushed my teeth,” He chuckled softly, tossing the tissue in the bathroom then quickly getting away from the cold tile floor. He practically lept back into their bed.

Otabek still had his eyes tightly shut, and his forearm over his face. Yuri snuggled against him, traced the ink on his skin. He placed a soft kiss on the rose that paired with the lyrics, then gently pushed Otabek’s arm away. Still, eyes closed.

“Hey, you okay?” He murmured, tracing the bow of his top lip. “Open up for me.”

Slowly, Otabek let his eyes fall open, and it was impossible for the tears that had gathered to not flow over as soon as he did.

“Oh- What,” Yuri went instantly cold with worry, “Otya, why are you crying? What happened?”

“I don’t even _know_ ,” he answered miserably, but then his teeth remained. He was crying, but smiling at the same time. Then he was kind of laughing, but seemed confused by it, so that made Yuri laugh too.

“I don’t know why,” he repeated, and Yuri kissed his forehead, lingered there. Then he made his way to his lips, kissing him slow as he wiped the tears from his cheeks.

“Did it feel good?” Yuri asked cautiously once they’d parted. “Well, obviously good enough.”

He smirked, “It was perfect, Yuri. But I think I just got a little bit-“

He paused, trying to find the words. Yuri lay his head on Otabek’s chest, and his hands went into blonde hair. He found the words there.

“I guess overwhelmed would be it. Since Malibu, it’s been a lot of lows. Even when good things happen and I should be excited, I struggle to feel anything more than just content, but mostly just neutral. I’ve been getting used to feeling numb most of the time, and not in my face.”

Yuri rolled his eyes, but nodded. Otabek’s fingers lingered on his temple, the curve of his brow bone.

“And you know, you’re great with your hand, truly gifted, but I think it was the words that got me there.”

He pressed a soft kiss into Yuri’s hair and sang so softly there.

I love you like the roses.

“I love you, seven,” Otabek whispered, now loved up as Yuri had hoped and on another edge, this time sleep.

Yuri smiled, looked up at him, “I love you too.”

He didn’t say no matter what, but he traced the letters onto Otabek’s chest. He seemed to understand, because when he had stopped, Otabek took his hand to kiss.

They were closing their eyes, about to sleep, when the idea flowed in through the window. Probably those damned devil winds again.

Yuri yawned, disguising himself from judgement as he asked the question that seemed so obvious, he couldn’t imagine not thinking of it sooner.

“Babe, how do you feel about me getting a tattoo?”

 

 

Armand’s shop was one of the locations in their old neighborhood that was almost completely untainted from bad memories. When Yuri called to ask for an appointment, the familiar voice on the other end just chuckled and said, “Bring my boy beks and some of Holly’s cold brew, and I might forget to charge you.”

They walked hand in hand to the shop, Yuri carrying a thermos of the promised coffee. Armand was waiting for them at the front like an eager puppy. He spent six days in the gym and could lift them both over his head, but he smiled like a sunbeam the moment the bell over the door chimed to announce their arrival.

“Back from the big house!” He laughed heartily as he and Otabek hugged. When they parted, Armand held onto his shoulders, looking at him firmly, but Yuri couldn’t miss the subtle shine in his eyes.

“You straight?” He asked, with all the conviction of someone who had lost one too many friends, one too many who hadn’t come down from their last high.

“Yeah man,” Otabek nodded, tapping his shoulder, “I’m good now.”

He reached in his pocket, briefly showing Armand the token Victor had given him before he left Malibu. It was only thirty days, but he would get his sixty-day before they left for tour.

Armand pulled him into another gut-crushing hug, patting his back proudly, right over where Otabek’s shoulders were inked.

“I love you, kid. You better keep it up.”

“I will,” he promised, finally being released and stepping back.

“And you, big cat!” Armand turned his attention to Yuri with a smile just as wide, “I knew I would get you strapped into my chair before it was all over.”

Yuri grinned and looked over at Otabek knowingly, “I had to figure out what I wanted for sure.”

As it turned out, the ribs hurt like a bitch. Yuri was tough about it, but he held onto Otabek’s arm pretty tight and Armand chuckled whenever he would screw his eyes tightly shut.

Soon it became a little bit comfortable in its consistency, and the three of them talked as Armand worked. They had a lot to catch him up on since they’d seen him last, and they had quite a bit of time to kill.

“So when should I stop by Amoeba to look for the record?” He asked, leaning back for a sip of coffee.

Otabek chuckled, “Don’t worry man, we’ll send a box of records over here with some merch. And you’re coming to the album release right?”

“Am I going to the album release?” Armand scoffed, “Unless a piano takes me out on the walk over, I’ll be there.”

They talked about where they would be on tour, talked only have positive things. If Armand was curious about Malibu or the article, he didn’t bring either of them up.

“So,” he said over the buzz of the machine, “are you crazy kids going to get married or some shit?”

Otabek smirked knowingly and kissed Yuri’s temple.

“Only when we have more gold records than we know what to do with.”

“Multi Platinum,” Yuri challenged, smiling back.

“Deal.”

 

“Is it what you wanted?” Otabek asked him as they both looked in the mirror, Yuri holding his shirt up and turned to see all of his left side.

From his rib cage to his hip bone, there was a rose garden. Three large red blooms, petals beautifully curled. They looked like real fresh flowers that he could pick from himself, and all around them was a lush filigree, thorns subtle but sharp. Hidden inside the intricate design just in the corner of his hip above his waistband, there was a lucky number seven.

“It’s perfect,” Yuri told him.

 

With the album done, Yuri’s tattoo replaced its presence in their bed. It healed perfectly, and in the mornings Otabek would trace his fingers along the filigree, sing softly to the roses. He was a little bit in love with it, a little bit obsessed. He would trace his tongue along the curve of the petals and all the way down to plant a kiss on the hidden number.

They savored those hours in bed knowing that once tour started, they would be much fewer and far between. They held onto the hours they had, and each other, and made the most of them both.

 

The album release could only be described as surreal.

Amoeba was the shop everyone went to whenever a record worth buying in a physical form was released. It wasn’t so common anymore to do that, so to see a crowd of people there waiting for them when they arrived was exciting. It was just an appetizer for the number they would see on tour.

There were old friends and fans who had been following the band for a long time, some from the very beginning. If anyone had a gripe about the new members being on the album, or Yuri being on the cover, no one said anything to his face. They wouldn’t dare.

It was strange, to have everyone clap when they walked in. It was strange to have people hugging and congratulating them. It was strange to make small talk with his speaking voice while hearing his singing voice playing through the speakers.

Then, someone handed him their copy of the album to sign and a sharpie, and it finally set in.

He tried not to linger, not wanting it to be creepy, but it was the first time he’d held it finished in his hands. It was surreal to think that this person in front of him would drive home with the album playing in their car, and it might live there for the next ten years. It would be a part of the soundtrack of someone else’s lives, so many people’s, and not just their own anymore.

He signed it and handed it over to Otabek beside him, who was smiling and answering questions.

There were people who had no idea, but every so often someone would go up to Otabek and give him that steadying, proud look. It was the same that Armand had given him, the same that he would sometimes catch in Erzhan’s eyes.

Between all six of them, they managed to talk to everyone, and everyone signed the albums and took pictures and engaged in all the expected pleasantries.

They played a small acoustic set of four songs from the album, and after that the crowd thinned until it was hard to tell who was just at the shop and stumbled upon the event and who was still there for them.

Yuri laced his hand with Otabek’s and they snuck away from the majority of the crowd, into the rows and stacks of vinyl records.

They were happy. They were just browsing the selection, glad to be away from everyone else and have a moment to be quiet together. One would pull out an album, tell the story of it, and then trade. They wandered towards the books and zines section, thinking maybe they could pick out a few for tour. Yuri figured they would have a lot more time for things like that. He could picture it, them curled up on the sofa in the bus, each in a different world made of paper and ink as they crossed state lines.

He was swaying in the aisle, high off nothing else but a kiss and the feeling of the album being a part of the world, when someone approached them.

Yuri recognized him immediately, Otabek’s old friend JJ. He was smiling, walking over to Otabek to greet each other like boys who aren’t in love or family sometimes do; clasping hands and slapping each other on the back. There was usually no actual congratulations in order behind the gesture, but tonight there was.

“The album is amazing man,” he was saying, and if he wasn’t going to acknowledge Yuri’s existence (or the fact that he was on half the songs on said amazing album), then Yuri wasn’t going to acknowledge him. Only he had to, because his eyes flicked down just in time to see that there was something in JJ’s hand when he went to press it to Otabek’s.

The plastic baggie that made up the eight ball was tucked between JJ’s fingers so that when he shook Otabek’s hand, the coke was pressed against his palm. It was meant to be fast, a quick offering and the fastest exchange of the smallest thing worth hundreds of dollars, but Otabek froze.

“No hard feelings about moving that weight, right?”

It’s the strike of a match, and all at once Yuri was ignited. He stepped forward, putting himself between his boyfriend and JJ.

“You need to get the hell away from us.”

Only JJ isn’t listening. He hasn’t acknowledged Yuri at all, his eyes are still focused on Otabek. He looks angry and vengeful, and he’s not letting go of Otabek’s hand.

“I don’t want,” Otabek started, a slight shake to his voice as he started to pull his hand away. “I don’t need this. I’m clean.”

JJ laughed, “Are any of us ever really clean?”

Otabek managed to pull his hand away, and it must have felt like ripping bone from its socket. Still, he had done it. He took a few steps back, but his fingers trembled and twitched. He reached for Yuri’s hand, and their fingers instantly interlaced.

Of course, that was what finally alerted JJ to Yuri’s presence.

“Fine, you want to play straight edge, have fun while it lasts. What about your little princess here? I can get you some pills for the road.”

Yuri was about to release every vehement curse he could think of in every language he knew, but he didn’t have to as soon as she walked into frame.   
  
Isabella walked up the aisle towards them quickly, her eyes wide and worried as she had obviously been looking for her boyfriend. Yuri almost didn’t recognize her. 

He’d always seen Isabella looking perfect, the sharp angles of her eyeliner and the perfect curve of her red lips, not a hair out of place. She always wore sleek, modest clothes that made her look more like an agent or a manager than just the girlfriend of some rock star. In the past, Yuri had always felt a weird draw to her, like everything that was a mystery to him. He’d thought that maybe, in the right light, they could have been friends. After all, he was just the boyfriend of some rock star. But things weren’t that way anymore.

Under the pale fluorescent lights of Amoeba, her tailored sweater looked oversized on her frame and her hair was dirty and swept back unnaturally. Her skin was sallow, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup. She was still beautiful, but there was something mixed with it, something Yuri had learned to call by its first name. She was afraid.

She was also wearing a fluffy white fur coat, and it looked just like the one Yuri had worn on the now infamous cover of Eros. That’s how Yuri knew the tables had fully turned.

“Jean, there you are,” she sighed, sounding like a relieved parent who’d just found their lost child, “Come on, let’s go home.”

She linked her arm with his, looked up at him with pleading eyes as she tried to pull him away.

JJ started to turn to go with her, but he had one last jab to throw their way.

“Good luck on tour you two,” his eyes moved to Yuri’s. “And break a leg, princess.”

Isabella was more insistent now as she led him away, rushed words in his ear as she led him down the aisle. JJ turned his head and walked willingly, but it was Isabella that turned to look back at them.

“I’m so sorry,” She mouthed silently, looking straight at Yuri. Then they were gone.

Yuri couldn’t think about them, in an instant he was standing in front of Otabek, crowding his vision. He was halfway to a full panic. Yuri managed to get him out of the open, into a quiet corner of the store.

“I almost took it,” Otabek admitted quickly, broken and heaving dry air. “Out of habit, I almost took it from him. He was giving it to me like it was free.”

Nothing was ever truly free.

Yuri held Otabek’s face between his hands and pressed their foreheads together.

“Just breathe, Otabek,” he said calmly, though his skin still felt like it was burning him from inside. He wanted to sharpen himself again, tear down anyone and anything that could make Otabek feel this way, but he had to be there. He had to breathe too. No matter if it took minutes or hours, he had to breathe too.

“This is your night, _our_ night. We’ve worked so hard to get here, don’t let that ruin it.”

When Otabek spoke after a long while, Yuri could feel his heartbeat under where his palm had moved down to press. It was the beat of his favorite song again.

“I hope he’ll be okay,” he muttered softly. “I don’t want anyone else to have to go through all of this.”

There was Otabek, worried about someone he used to do lines with the same way he worried about his brothers. There were things addiction made you do, made you become, and then there was what was left underneath. Underneath it all, Otabek had always loved unconditionally, even if he refused to show it.

Yuri didn’t know what to say to that or how to put into words the thoughts that swirled around him, so he just held Otabek, arms wrapped securely around him, and he just stayed with him in that little corner of the record shop, in their little corner of the universe.

 

When they returned, no one else noticed the way Otabek was more on edge. He rarely smiled for posed pictures anyway, so what was the difference?

“Are you coming to waffle house with us?” Serik asked as they leave at the end of the night. The paychecks don’t come in overnight, so they’re still on a budget even though they’re hours from tour.

He shook his head, “No, going home with Yura.”

If anyone would have caught on, it would have been Serik. But he’d been distracted.

“Don’t be nervous for tour now,” Serik said to him quietly. “You’re stronger now, afa. This is everything you’ve ever wanted, and this time nothing is in your way.”

That was only half of it, but Yuri would be able to give him the other half, when he reached out for it.

They said their goodbyes and had a driver waiting to take them home. They were quiet in the backseat, watching the sunset together out the window, as had become a new favorite pastime of theirs. They didn’t say anything until a motorcycle sped past the car, and Otabek sighed softly.

“I miss my bike,” he said softly, under his breath.

“You rode?” It was always surprising to Yuri, that there was more still he didn’t know about Otabek.

He nodded. “I sold it to pay for Serik’s van, years ago.”

Yuri understood, and he kissed his neck softly, meant to comfort but not to spark anything.

“Well, after tour, you can get a new one.”

 

 

They were silent again at home, the house welcoming them in. They didn’t turn on any lights, barely made any noise except the creak of the stairs as they walked up them. In the doorway of their bedroom, Yuri backed himself against the frame. He looked up at Otabek in the dim hallway light, eyes cast low and soft. He pulled Otabek down into a kiss, and Otabek’s arms bracketed around him, palms pressed to the wall.

Yuri shook out of his jacket as they kissed, managed to lose a few of his bracelets along the way. Otabek pulled back and watched in muted curiosity as Yuri pulled his shirt over his head. Their eyes stayed locked together as Yuri put the toe of his boot on Otabek’s knee, leaning over to unbuckle and unlace. The boots clattered to the floor with a thunk, and Yuri’s skirt followed soon after. Then his fishnets pushed down to pool at his feet, and kicked off. Finally, he reached behind to unclasp the collar fastened around his neck, and that fell to the floor with all the rest. He stood in front of Otabek is only his tiny black shorts offering the only thing he’d ever known how to give, every bare inch of himself.

Otabek was only looking at his eyes.

It was a request, and a test all in one. Otabek slowly shook his head.  

Just days ago, it would have been devastating, a question of his worth. A year ago, he wouldn’t have even had to ask. Pale white and ready, all it took was getting undressed for Otabek to get on his knees.

Now, Yuri just softened and dropped the challenge in his eyes. He took a step forward and leaned down, resting his ear against Otabek’s heart. He listened to the steady beat and closed his eyes when Otabek touched him, tracing the petals and thorns along his side. There was a kiss pressed to the crown of his head, and then Otabek pulled away.

“I’m going to take a bath,” He murmured, and was quick to turn and disappear behind the door. Yuri exhaled, leaned against the frame. It was strange, to not feel something in the extreme. Slowly, he picked up his clothes from the floor, made his way around the room to pick things up. He closed their bedroom door, then walked over to the bathroom door that was closed, just a sliver of golden light underneath and the sound of water rushing. Yuri pressed his forehead to the wood of the door, let his fingers rest on the handle. He listened, and under under the noise of the shower, he could hear Otabek crying.

He wondered what the right thing to do was. Did he open the door, join him in the bath?

He didn’t, and he let his hand drop. His feet felt like lead as he moved to the bed. He ventured into cold sheets alone, curled up on his own side and shivered. It was hard, knowing that there was going to be a part of this that Otabek would have to face alone. No matter how much Yuri was in it with him, there was no way for Yuri to heal for him. They could walk together, but they each had different stops to make along the way, different battles that could only be faced alone.

He waited, listening to the water until it stopped. He waited still for the door to open, his eyes closed as he pictured Otabek moving about the room, spreading the smell of his soap. Finally he got into bed, wet hair on the pillow and his arm reaching out for Yuri. He went willingly when called. They lay there for a moment, just breathing until they were even.

“You don’t have to hide it from me,” Yuri started gently. “I’m not taking anything back. I’m in it with you, even when it’s hard. Even when you’re scared.”

“I know,” he murmured. “You’re being better to me than I ever could have hoped for.”

“No i’m not,” Yuri replied, “I’m only trying to be what you deserve.”

Otabek smiled at him softly, one hand smoothing over his pale hair. 

“I’m not interested in what I deserve,” He said, mirroring words that Yuri had spoken. “I’m only interested in what I’ve worked for. And i’ll always be working for you, seven.”

Yuri turned so that he could fall asleep facing him, and kissed him chastely.

“Whatever we face, let’s just face it together, okay?”

“Okay.”

Yuri fell asleep that night with the breath of the words _I love you_ against his lips.

 

In the morning, Otabek didn’t let his fears win.

Holly woke them up gently before the sun did, and once she was gone they lingered for only a moment. They said a silent goodbye to their bed, to the plastic green stars that still glowed faintly above them.

“Are you ready for this?” Otabek whispered against his skin, and Yuri just laughed as he kissed him.

Victor was in their living room when they went downstairs, sitting in Yuri’s favorite chair. It was like the opposite of going downstairs on christmas morning and seeing presents waiting.

Otabek went to him without any protest, and Yuri went for the coffee pot.

“Hey, I got a call about a follow up article with Eros,” Holly was telling him, and he just glared at her with half-closed eyes. He hadn’t even taken his first sip yet, it was still quiet time, but this was Holly Kennedy. There was no quiet. “Do you want to do it?”

The sun wasn’t even up yet, how was he supposed to make a decision?

“Are you joking? They butchered me in that article.”

Holly rolled her eyes, brushing through his lion’s mane of bed head fondly.

“Hardly,” She smiled easily, “they made you infamous. But I already told them you weren’t happy, but then they promised to send their editor in chief to personally interview you and Beka. Yuuri Katsuki, I think? He’ll set the record straight.”

“I don’t want anything set straight,” Yuri smirked, and finally got a sip in.

Holly crossed her arms. “I’m going to be away from my boyfriend for three weeks at a time to be your tour manager, and it’s because I love you. So do you want the press or not?”

Yuri sighed loudly, “Fine. We’ll do it. When?”

Holly told him the date, and Yuri narrowed his eyes instantly.

“Wait a minute, that’s when we’re in New Orleans, and Erzhan’s taking you to Paris. You won’t even be there.”

She smiled too sweetly, nodding, “That’s right pumpkin, so don’t fuck it up.”

Yuri almost spit out his coffee from laughing so hard.

 

They met up with the rest of the band where the bus was parked, and several people had turned up to see them off. Yuri had just finished being crushed in a hug by Armand when he looked around and found that one of them was missing. He found Otabek and pretended to be cold, just so that Otabek would wrap him in his arms, leather jacket covering most of both of them.

“Where’s your brother?” Yuri murmured against his neck. 

“Manhattan,” Otabek yawned out.

“No, Serik.”

“Oh, he’s saying goodbye to his girlfriend.”

Yuri startled, stared up at his face, “What? Since when does Serik have a girlfriend?”

Otabek smirked, “Why are you so concerned?”

Yuri stammered, tripping over himself trying to find the words. He didn’t want to admit that Serik felt like a little brother to him too.

“He didn’t tell me is all,” He finally settled on, pouting slightly. Otabek nipped his bottom lip until he giggled, pushing at his shoulder playfully.

“He only told me a few days ago, he’s keeping it to himself. She’ll probably come out to one of the shows, though.”

“Of course she will,” Yuri rolled his eyes.

He shrugged, “He’s eighteen now, I think he’s waited long enough. She must be something special, the way he’s all moon eyed over her. He’s falling hard and fast, of course.”

Otabek cupped his face, thumb rubbing affectionately at his cheek, “That runs in the family.”

Yuri smiled against the kiss before giving in, eyes closing and melting into it. Despite everything, that part had always been easy. Even though they were about to get on a bus and tour forty different cities, Yuri was in Otabek’s arms, so he was home.

They were very rudely pulled out of their connection when a skateboard rolled over and hit Yuri’s ankles.

“Get on the bus losers,” Jarrod called from across the lot, his hair freshly dyed a neon pink, “We’re going touring.”

 

When they got onto the bus, Holly pointed out everyone’s designated bunk. Everyone dumped their bags onto Yuri’s, figuring he wouldn’t miss it. It was still early morning and they had a long drive to the first show that night in Las Vegas. They all wanted to go back to sleep and wake up when they could walk on solid ground and melt in the hot desert air.

Serik came onto the bus just in time, his cheeks flushed and his hair under a beanie again, defiant curls peeking through. His bunk was across from Otabek’s, so when Yuri climbed in beside his boyfriend he could see Serik across the way, sticking out his tongue. He did the same expression back and then shut the curtain. He was still curious about Serik’s little romance, but he would let him tell about it himself.

He yawned despite the coffee in his system. He was immune to it now, and curled up against Otabek like a cat.

“When we wake up, it all begins.” Otabek murmured, carding through his short hair.

Yuri nodded, but he wasn’t nervous about any of it. For the first time, the energy of the unknown was propelling them forward.

For the first time, they would be walking onstage together. Not Yuri cheering him on from the front row or waiting to see him backstage. Not trading off mics as one took the stage after the other. They would be performing their album together. For the rest of their lives, they would be onstage, side by side.

Yuri couldn’t imagine it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone was wondering, here's the final tracklist: 
> 
> Lucky Seven  
> Tiger Head (explicit)   
> Baby x 7   
> Hold on Angel   
> Backseat mattress  
> That one nirvana song  
> Roses  
> If this album tanks, we’ll sell the tape (explicit)   
> Holly, go home  
> Plastic stars   
> Broken glass (Explicit)  
> Stupid   
> Hollow’s eve (explicit)   
> No Matter What 
> 
> hidden track: Brother (Serik’s song)


	13. Phoenix Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here is 13. My lucky number. This chapter is special because it takes place in my home state, in a city that I love very much. This chapter is also lovingly named after a song by a Louisiana rock band, Meriwether, I highly encourage you to check them out. If you listen to my playlists on spotify, you might have heard them a couple times. Enjoy!

They had learned what it was to dance inside a flame. No one told them that every fire burned out, and all that would be left behind was ashes. That was how the land was cleansed and made stronger. 

It was hard to see underneath all of the ash and soot, but there were glowing embers rising, wings forming. 

Everyone knew that a phoenix rebuilt itself from what was left of its predecessor. 

  
  
  


“It’s hot,” Yuri complained loudly, flopping down onto his back in the middle of the stage. It wasn’t his fault soundcheck was so boring. 

Across the venue and seated behind a railing, Holly called out to him through a megaphone. 

“Yuri, we have fifteen minutes left, you’ll live.” 

He was splayed out dramatically onstage like a leather snow angel. Jarrod rolled up next to him on an amp cart, and the way his legs were folded in made him look like a frog. 

“If you didn’t wear so much vegan leather, you wouldn’t feel hot.” 

“But I have to,” he quipped, throwing an arm over his forehead, blowing the red tassels off his face, “for the aesthetic.” 

They had been on tour for a few weeks, and Yuri didn’t really see what was so different now. Just the fact that they had a giant tour bus and a huge crew and happend to play arenas instead of rock clubs and bars. 

Despite his initial hesitance, he had learned that he really,  _ really _ loved the bus. Even Serik, whose great pride was being their usual driver across the country in the van, had given in to its charm. He even liked their perpetually pissed off driver, Yakov Feltsman. Serik always called him Mac, but no one really knew why. Sometimes Serik got nostalgic and would go up to the front of the bus to sit with his friend Mac and have a nightly chat as they crossed state lines. 

Meanwhile, Yuri was learning to be very comfortable sleeping halfway on top of Otabek. The bunks were not meant for two people to sleep side by side, so usually some other arrangement needed to be made to fit comfortably. Yuri didn’t miss sleeping on the lumpy mattress in the back of the van or in a floral-print motel bed for a minute. 

It had also become a custom to leave gifts for each other in the bunks. Yuri would climb in first while Otabek was still taking off his stage makeup in the bathroom and find notes on his pillow, or fresh flowers picked from the roadside. Sometimes he fell asleep like that, curled in the corner to leave enough space, a wildflower or a poem in his hand. 

Onstage, someone kissed him upside down, and he smiled into it immediately.

Otabek had laid down next to him on his front. 

“You’ll get stage glitter stuck on,” Yuri observed, rolling his eyes up to see that Otabek didn’t worry about the woes of leather, and he hadn’t bothered with a shirt anyway. 

He shrugged, “it’s unavoidable, why not embrace it?” 

There was always glitter on the stage. Whether it fell from clothes or makeup, or some random punk fairy came by and danced around until it fell off her wings, it was a given. There was always tape on the ground to mark off where to place things, and there was always glitter. 

“You guys are so cute now, it’s disgusting,” Jarrod stated, attempting to tie up the neon yellow laces on his shoes with one hand. He was eating a kiwi but decided he needed his other hand, so he held it out for Yuri to hold. Yuri took a nibble when Jarrod wasn’t looking, and held it up for Otabek to do the same. He took a bigger bite, smirking as the juice ran down his chin, and Yuri wiped it away with his thumb. He handed the fruit back to Jarrod, who didn’t seem to notice, or at least didn’t care. 

“Were we not cute before now?” Otabek asked. 

Jarrod pondered it seriously, biting into the kiwi.

“Yeah, but cute like how bears are cute before they rip out your throat.” 

Otabek narrowed his eyes as if trying to interpret that, while Yuri just smirked. 

“I think you’re a little jealous. You don’t have to be, I’ve seen how people throw themselves at you backstage.” 

Jarrod turned the skin inside out, finishing the fruit. 

“I’m all about self love at the moment, thanks.” 

“So is that why your left arm is bulking up more?”

Yuri got a fuzzy kiwi skin thrown at him for that, but they laughed. Even though he teased, he liked the new Jarrod. He was figuring out who he was without Holly, and Yuri could relate to him in that way. He hoped that Jarrod like the new Yuri, the improved Otabek. Only, he got Otabek back and they were stronger than ever. Jarrod had to be strong all on his own. 

Well, him and his left hand. 

  
  
  
  
  


If there was glitter on the stage, then there was also something in the air. 

But maybe that was just the smell of New Orleans.

They arrived a full day before their show so they had time to be tourists. Sara and Mila quickly abandoned them, disappearing inside a voodoo shop. They were never seen or heard from again, at least not on that day. They lost Serik on the way to Bourbon street, because he saw a group of boys playing overturned buckets as if they were drums. They were playing for tips, and he was about to make them a lot of money.

Otabek and Yuri walked in the historic district hand in hand. It was very romantic, wandering around and guessing how many people had died in that beautiful house, how many ghosts haunted the next. New Orleans was a broken city, but it made no attempt to hide that from anyone. There was something beautifully honest in that. The music was everywhere, as deep and sticky-sweet as the humidity in the air. 

Then there was the food. 

Maybe the French motherland had its charms, as Yuri watched Holly posting a variety of pastel-colored, beautiful food porn photos to her social media feeds. New Orleans, however, had something like those heart songs Otabek was always talking about. Only, with food too. Yuri guessed that was what they meant by soul food. You could taste the history of everything, even down to the spices. 

They walked to cáfe du monde and found the first free table they saw and went to sit down without waiting, the way that locals did. They ordered cafe au lait and beignets, and Yuri got to have the extra treat of kissing powdered sugar from Otabek’s top lip. 

They walked back towards Bourbon to try to find their friends, but they were long gone. Otabek showed him a picture he’d gotten from Serik. His girlfriend must have arrived for the show he’d invited her to, because the picture was of this gorgeous girl leading him by hand, looking back to smile at the camera. The tops of her warm cheeks were golden in the sun. 

“So that’s Drew,” Yuri mused, “We should interrogate her about her intentions. I mean, just look at those dimples. She’s plotting something.” 

Otabek smirked, threw an arm around Yuri’s shoulder. They’d already had enough touristing and walked towards the tram station so that they could hitch a ride on the streetcar and be closer to the hotel they were staying in. Yuri loved the bunk, he really did, but the thought of being able to stretch out on cool fresh sheets and go into a food coma was really getting him going.

“I’m just glad that after everything, he gets to be a normal teenager now.” 

Yuri rolled his eyes, “A normal teenager who graduated high school two years early and has toured across the country with a band.”

A hand was held out for Yuri to step up into the streetcar, and he took it with a smile as they quickly found their seats. Heated tourists around them didn’t have time for their romantic antics. 

“Look around baby,” Otabek murmured in his ear, and it was times like that Yuri could hear him healing, hear him happy, “nothing is truly normal anymore.”

  
  
  


Back at the hotel, room service brought them charbroiled oysters and steaming fresh french bread, and Yuri audibly moaned at the first bite. 

Otabek, who was used to that noise under completely different circumstances, looked up curiously. He was still full from lunch, Yuri on the other hand was a bottomless pit when it came to food. So was New Orleans. 

“I’m never leaving here,” Yuri testified, mouth full. “I’m staying here and getting as fat as I can.”

He talked a big game, but Yuri’s gluttony was short lived. He passed out soon enough, his clothes still on. Otabek cleaned up their meal and put the air conditioning on high, because Yuri liked the hotel rooms cold when they slept in one. He changed into sweatpants and then went over to Yuri, trying to persuade him out of his own clothes. He’d be miserable if he woke up in skinny jeans and studs. 

“If you wanted me to strip for you just ask next time,” Yuri mumbled near incoherently as Otabek peeled down his pants. 

“Arms up, come on tiger,” Otabek instructed softly, managing to get his halter top off and his favorite oversized t-shirt on. Yuri flopped back onto the pillows and curled up, his ass an enticing curve poking out from under the shirt. Otabek sighed, pulled the covers back and lay next to him. Yuri was already asleep, but Otabek stroked his side until he fell asleep too. 

  
  
  
  


Yuri woke up in a fever. 

It was strange, because the room was icy cool on his cheek. Yuri quickly burrowed further under the covers. 

It was a bit disorienting, because he’d fallen asleep in his clothes when the sun was still out. He easily figured Otabek had taken care of him, only vaguely remembered being changed. 

All he did know was, for whatever reason, he was hard. 

He sighed, reached out for Otabek in the dark beside him. He was fast asleep, his breathing deep and steady. Yuri felt his lip curl in a smile, and he kissed the space between his shoulders. He loved the man sleeping next to him  _ so much _ . He couldn’t count the number of times in a day he reminded himself that he was lucky, they were lucky. Things were far from perfect, but they had everything. 

Of course, in his current state, he needed a little bit more. 

He tried just quietly stroking himself, but that was quickly not  _ enough _ . He got up on his knees, careful to not disturb Otabek’s sleep, and folded a pillow. He felt more than a little ridiculous, being grown and resorting to fucking a pillow like he was a teenager, but that was just what his body wanted. 

All was well,  _ very _ well, until Otabek turned over, groggily reaching out for Yuri. He stilled instantly, and soon enough Otabek was blinking into the darkness, trying to find him. 

“Yura?” He called out with a sleepy husk, and it caused Yuri to shift forward, whine involuntarily. It was so soft, but Otabek heard it. Awake now, he could also feel the shift against the bed. 

It was ironic that tiger was Yuri’s nickname, because Otabek could pounce too. 

Yuri was quickly pinned by interlaced hands, stretched out on his back. His moan was trapped between Otabek’s teeth. Their kiss was perfect for the darkness around them, hidden and intimate. Otabek had pushed down his sweatpants so that when they moved against each other, bodies writhing in the thick night air, they were moving together, perfectly skin against skin. It felt so good to be together like that, Yuri almost couldn’t take it. 

As if he heard, otabek pulled back. Yuri whined in need, trying to find him again. 

“Turn the light on,” he begged. He felt a shift, a click, and then illumination. 

Otabek sat on his knees, lingering just above Yuri’s hips, not putting any weight on him. His hair was tousled and his lips still slick wet, his warm bronze skin smooth and shadowed in the yellow lamp light. He was unfair in how gorgeous he was. 

“Are you alright?” Yuri asked softly, running the tips of his fingers down clothed thighs. He was not going to look down from Otabek’s eyes. 

He nodded, and that seemed to make his chest move again in even breaths. 

“You’re beautiful, Angel,” he said quietly and his hand moved, one finger hesitantly pointing out like the beginning of a question. He traced the shape of Yuri’s lip, pressed the pad of it to the center. Yuri let his wet tongue peek out to taste the salt, a smirk hidden in the corner. 

He was looking at Yuri like he was exactly what Otabek called him. It would be sickening, how much they adored each other, if they were on the outside looking in. Only, moments like that were only ever for them. They could make a show onstage, flirting with every possible innuendo each night just to play with each other and make the crowd go wild. They could perform who they were, who they had been. Now that things were different, this was the new part they didn’t share with anyone else. 

“Ask for it,” Yuri prodded quietly, “ask for what you want.” 

Otabek hesitated, biting his bottom lip. Yuri thought of what he might say. They had promised to take things as slow as Otabek needed, and that had meant that they actually used their free time on other things than each other lately. Besides, the tour was different than any of the others before. It was their big tour, and the next would only be bigger, and that meant they would be busier. They had learned to slow it down just a little bit and appreciate those lost hours of sleep. Yuri thought about the last time, a few nights before in the tour bus, face muffled in the pillow and Otabek half crushed towards the bottom end of the bunk, his tongue and his guitar-calloused fingers making it a challenge for Yuri to keep quiet while everyone slept. He thought about the time before that, when they were home and Yuri had gotten his tattoo a few days before. Otabek had worshipped every inch of him before he was inside, and Yuri got to stare up at him as they moved together until his eyes closed by no will of his own. He had to admit, a bed offered so many wonderful possibilities that a tour bus bunk just couldn’t. 

“I want to ride you,” is what Otabek said, strained with need. “Can we do that?”

Oh.  _ Oh.  _

“Oh,” Yuri replied, aloud this time, but nodded instantly. “Yeah,  _ fuck _ yeah, we can do that. I think the lube is in my blue-“ 

Otabek was already slipping off the bed. Yuri watched in amusement as he let his sweats drop down and he stepped out of them. He admired the view a bit hungrily as Otabek bent over the bag and grabbed what they needed. Yuri pulled his nightshirt off, tossing the useless garment towards his naked boyfriend. 

“You can turn the heat back up,” Yuri murmured as he palmed himself lazily, “since we’re not sleeping anymore.” 

Otabek did so and tried to hide his nervous anticipation as he made his way back to the bed. It was such a contrast to the cocky persona he used to walk around with all the time, like it was an  ill-fitting costume he couldn’t take off. It still looked good on stage, though. 

They slipped back into the same position, kissing and grinding against each other, only slower. They both wanted it to last, maybe push into two rounds if Yuri could help it. When Yuri pushed away to coat his fingers, Otabek moved to kiss his neck, then down to the rose garden along his side. He licked at thorns that would never cut his tongue. 

There was a brief and ridiculous spat about Otabek’s condom selection (“why would you pick cherry flavor if you’re not blowing me?” “Like I ever blow you with anything on,” “then why cherry?” “It’s dark and I’m excited okay, calm down. Besides, you’re the only one that likes the cherry,” “that’s not what you said when-“ “just hush up and finger me already.”), and Yuri did what he was told. 

Otabek didn’t enjoy it at first because he wasn’t as used to it, even after years. He kissed Yuri again to distract himself, but Yuri wasn’t going to let him off that quick. It was easier to get someone to talk about their feelings when you had two fingers inside of them. 

“So why like this?” He let the question curl too. 

“Mmph,” was Otabek’s eloquent reply, “because it feels good.” 

He shifted his fingers just so, and Otabek’s head hung weakly, he even pushed back before he could collect himself. 

“And because,” he was more careful as he continued, “I feel like I’ve earned it, don’t pull out.” 

He said the last part in a rush, and Yuri had stilled. He wanted to stop and tell Otabek that he didn’t have to earn  _ anything _ with him, that this wasn’t about what had happened, but he was quickly reassured, at least partly. 

“Keep going.” 

“Keep talking.” 

He sighed, but went on. He looked back up to Yuri’s eyes then, as if he could make himself any more vulnerable . “It’s just, it’s more natural to me to give it all to you. It’s easier when I can make it about you, focus on making you feel-“ 

He broke off with a sharp gasp, a whine grated between his teeth, but Yuri understood the sentiment and half-smirked. He wanted to make Otabek’s toes curl again. 

“Like that,” he grinned back, a contrast to how deep with need his voice was, “It’s harder to be me, in my own head. It gets overwhelming pretty quick, you remember last time.” 

Yuri felt a bit guilty at that, which was a weird thing to feel when Otabek was touching him again, keeping him hard. It was true that since Malibu, it had been about them, but with leanings towards Yuri’s pleasure. The one time it had been just about Otabek, he’d cried. 

“When I made you come just from saying I love you?” Yuri joked against the curve of his chin. Otabek chuckled, nodded. 

“Yeah, and then I cried.” 

“Will you again?” 

Otabek huffed in insincere annoyance, “If I don’t get your dick inside me, maybe.” 

“Gross,” Yuri murmured, then pushed harder with his fingers until they were right where they needed to be, and he licked into Otabek’s mouth filthily when he groaned against him.

There was a brief cry when Yuri pulled his fingers away, but he kissed Otabek’s cheek to make up for it. It was true, they were kind of cute now. Otabek was such the gentleman, propping up pillows behind Yuri so he could comfortably rest his back against the headboard. Otabek even put the condom on for him, then quickly returned to Yuri’s lap, arms wrapped around him. 

They kissed again for a moment, Otabek’s smooth hips grinding back. When they parted, he reached a hand back but Yuri made him pause, held his chin until their eyes were together again. 

“Hey,” he said softly. “You know I love you, right? And you’ve earned a right to feel good.” 

Otabek turned his head to kiss the hand that was holding him. “I know.” 

Finally, slowly, Otabek sunk down. Yuri didn’t focus on himself, on the tight heat that was about to make him feel  _ so  _ good. He instead watched the subtle shifts in Otabek’s expression, the change of his breathing. 

When he was fully seated, Otabek just let all of the air fall out of him. He leaned forward to kiss Yuri’s neck, his gentle fingertips tracing the roses and thorns along Yuri’s side. Yuri’s thumb pressed into the  _ o _ in the word  _ love _ against Otabek’s hip. 

When they moved again, they moved together. 

They moved the way a good rock song sounded, a slow but strong build into an electric chorus, then down again, a slow circling of hips as the sweet torture continued. 

They couldn’t touch enough, they couldn’t be close enough. 

When Otabek could no longer grip his shoulders and leaned in to grip the headboard, Yuri was close enough to share air, to brush lips against his skin to tease, to taste. He looked at Otabek through his eyelashes when he pushed up, and watched him start to fall apart. 

“Touch me,” he begged, and Yuri just nodded. He didn’t want to do anything else. 

Minutes passed and Otabek went first, Yuri peppering him with adoring kisses as he trembled. 

With still shaking thighs, Otabek escaped from Yuri’s hold, crawled down his body with a path of kisses along the way. Yuri was still remembering to breathe and felt his fingertips buzzing to touch when Otabek took the cherry condom off and looked up through dark eyelashes, as if to say, “see what I do for you?”

Then he lowered his head, and Yuri’s fell back against the soft velvet headboard. 

They chased each other around in a circle like that for a while into the night, one after the other until it blurred together, and Yuri started to think maybe it always felt like that.

  
  


Later, they lay facing each other and were rebelling against tired eyes so that they could look at each other. Otabek traced the dip of Yuri’s back, his fingers strumming up and down the valley. 

“I don’t want to do anything other than this for the rest of my life,” he admitted softly. “To be with you.” 

Yuri smiled half-heartedly from where his face was pressed into the pillow. 

“What about the music?” 

Otabek touched his hair, murmured as they started to give in to the pull of sleep once more. 

“I wouldn’t have anything to sing about if you weren’t in my life.”

  
  
  
  
  


They woke up in the morning the same way, one just after the other. Yuri had a blissful moment of watching him sleep, spread out on his naked back in the light of the rising sun. Then his eyes opened and he smiled just a little, and Yuri couldn’t figure out if it was “good morning” that he whispered, or “thank you.” 

They had a quiet moment to continue their lovefest and cuddle into each other before the phone was ringing. 

It was a facetime from Holly. 

Otabek nipped at his ear playfully, and Yuri tried not to giggle as he answered.

“Hey Holls,” he murmured, rubbing his eyes as Otabek hid his face in Yuri’s neck. He stroked through his hair. 

“Bonjour citrouille!” She greeted easily, tucking her hair behind her ear. It was blue, but a baby blue, not the electric blue she used to have. It was softer, and it looked nice with the peach tone of her cheeks. She was glowing, happy. 

“Did you dye your hair again?” He wondered. 

She laughed, sipped at her coffee, “just a wig.” 

“How’s Paris?” 

“This is the first I’ve seen it in the daylight,” she smirked, and Yuri laughed knowingly. 

Otabek groaned, acknowledging Holly, “Bring my brother back in one piece, will you?” 

He kissed Yuri’s cheek and slipped out of the bed, and Yuri watched as he padded towards the bathroom. The door closed and he heard faded water running. He sighed contentedly. 

“How’s he doing?” Holly asked softly once she knew Otabek was gone. 

Yuri shrugged. “It comes and goes. Tour helps, and he’s been talking to Victor every day.” 

“Oh! Speaking of,” she exclaimed, as if she had just remembered, “You have that interview today with the editor of  _ Eros _ .” 

“But it’s Victor’s check up day.” 

She shrugged nonchalantly, “He can wait. Might make his flight from Malibu worthwhile, I’m sure you have something up your sleeve.” 

He blinked, putting on his innocent kitten eyes, “But I’m naked, I don’t have any sleeves.”

Holly glared at him, “I’m serious, pumpkin. There’s no such thing as bad press, but this is your chance turn it into your own story. And, this is Otabek’s chance to talk as well.” 

“You know he won’t, though.”

“Yeah,” she sighed and let her eyes roll, “he’d rather let the music talk. Doesn’t make our jobs any easier, of course.” 

Yuri nodded, grinning. “That’s how we like it.” 

Holly shook her head fondly and took another sip as the Parisian breeze tousled her hair. 

“Where’s yours anyway?” 

“Business meeting,” she answered. “Besides handling the band, he still has his own company you know.” 

Yuri sighed dramatically, “No one forgot, Holly.” 

Her next smile was half-hidden and shy, “I’m just proud of him, is all. He’s really good for me, Yuri. After trying so hard to make it work with Jar, it’s easy now. I don’t have to try. We’re just good for each other, you know what that’s like.” 

Yuri matched her private smile, nodded softly. 

“We always joked we would end up with brothers,” he muttered, “but it’s still a mystery to me how you ended up with someone like him. How did you even meet him? I know it wasn’t in the Bronx.” 

She sighed wistfully, looked off into the distance for a brief moment like she could see it all clearly in front of her eyes. “I’ll tell you the story one day. . . When you’re older.” 

Yuri rolled his eyes, “Alright, thanks mom. I’m going shower with my boyfriend now.” 

She blew him a kiss and he hung up on her, smirking. 

  
  
  
  
  


They walked down to the breakfast room for the free coffee and waffles that were really just part of the cost of their stay, and Yuri was the first to notice her. He quickly tightened his grip on Otabek’s hand, pulling him into an alcove behind the juicer. 

“What, did you see a ghost?” Otabek chuckled. 

“Look at Serik,” he whispered fiercely, pointing. “He’s with his  _ girlfriend.” _

Otabek looked puzzled, nodded. “Yeah, that’s Drew. So what?” 

Yuri quirked a brow. “So she’s staying here? In his room?” 

“So curious,” Otabek grinned, wrapped his arms around Yuri’s waist. “Why does it bother you?” 

He looked back at them. Serik was lit up like a halloween pumpkin, laughing about something she had said. They hadn’t even noticed anyone was around them. 

“It doesn’t,” he murmured. “I just, I hope they’re being. . . You know, safe.”

Otabek laughed, “It’s not a concern, tiger. Now c’mon, I want a bagel. Try to be normal.”

Yuri threw his eyes to the side, but followed him towards the buffet regardless. 

They sat down at the table with their plates, and Serik smiled up at them and started the introductions. 

“Drew, this is my brother Otabek and his boyfriend, Yuri. Guys, this is Drew.” 

She smiled at them shyly, tight curls rebelling from the high bun she wore to frame her face. In the light, flakes of gold shone on her cheeks, the tip of her nose. She was gorgeous. 

Otabek was saying something to her, but Yuri couldn’t stop himself from asking. It was running off his tongue before he could stop it. 

“So are you still waiting for marriage or?”

As he trailed off, Serik smirked and looked at his girlfriend, putting a hand on her shoulder. 

“Good job being normal,” Otabek muttered under his breath, shaking his head fondly. 

Yuri shrugged, as if it was a totally typical question for breakfast. If Drew was going to fit in, she was going to have to get used to how much they overshared anyway. 

“I don’t know about him,” Drew said, looking over at Serik, “but I definitely am.” 

Yuri nodded, a little surprised, but also relieved. 

“Anyway,” Serik said loudly, steering the conversation back to an acceptable route, “I was thinking about changing up my drum solo tonight.”

As he launched into a technical discussion with Otabek, members of their road crew and the rest of the band started to trickle in, some with tired, hungover eyes and headed straight for the coffee. Everyone that passed by the table was introduced to Drew, and if she was overwhelmed by all of the attention, she didn’t show it. There was an ease about her, she was quiet but there was something else there too. It was like she was an old soul. 

Jarrod was the last to stroll in, and he piled his plate before finding them. As he approached the table, he looked confused, stepped cautiously. 

“Drew?” He questioned. 

At the sound of her name she turned her head, a smile instantly on her face. 

“Jare Bear?”

Yuri looked from Otabek to Serik, confused. 

Then Drew was up from her chair, hugging Jarrod. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Um…” she trailed off, tucking the curls that had escaped her top knot back behind her ears, a  nervous habit. She looked over at Serik, her brown eyes wide. 

“Jarrod, this is my girlfriend Drew Mars-“

“Marseille,” both Jarrod and Serik finished in unison. 

“Yeah, um,” Serik confirmed nervously, “you know each other?” 

“She’s my baby cousin,” Jarrod said as he wrapped a protective arm around Drew’s shoulders. 

There had been many times over the years that Serik looked like a newborn baby deer, but this was the first time he looked like a deer in the headlights. 

“Looks like nobody's immune to the Altin family,” Jarrod said solemnly, shaking his head. He passed a long, hard stare at Serik, just enough to make him squirm. Then a signature platinum grin broke free and he let go of his cousin to walk behind where the youngest brother sat and made a mess rousling his hair, “but if you had to pick one, I guess this one’ll do for someone as amazing as Drew.” 

“Gee thanks,” Serik grumbled, playfully swatting Jarrod away as they laughed. With order restored, Otabek finally took a bite of his bagel.

“Jare bear,” Yuri murmured under his breath, laughing. “Unbelievable.”

  
  
  
  


Yuri was slinking around on the stage like a cat. 

He was rehearsing half-heartedly, because no one else was really working around their stage crew. Only Serik was onstage with him, and Drew sat on his knee as he was teaching her how play but mostly making her laugh. Whatever day job she had she needed to keep it, the girl was not meant for a rock band. 

Yuri, however, was all theatrics as he sang to an empty audience. At the end of his solo he collapsed on his back as if he’d been shot, dark-lined eyes closed for effect. Another casualty of rock and roll. 

“Hey rockstar,” a familiar voice said above him, and when Yuri opened his eyes he frowned at her, “you’re needed backstage, the interview guy is here.” 

“Carry me, Mila.”

He said it jokingly, which was why he almost scrambled out of her grip mid-air when she did just that. 

“Put me the fuck down,” he demanded as the red-head laughed. “I’m not a ragdoll.” 

“Maybe if you came to the gym with us more, this wouldn’t be so easy,” she teased. 

He smirked, putting one leg up on the stairway of the stage in order to rip the knees of his new fishnets. He tousled his sweat-damp hair to get it good and messy, and put on a pair of sunglasses. 

“Otabek is enough of a workout for me, thanks.”

He smirked, and because divine timing was a thing, a cymbal clashed onstage. The couple didn’t seem to notice or care, and Yuri watched Serik kiss Drew’s cheek. Ah, to be pure. Yuri wondered what that was like. 

Mila rolled her eyes, leaning back in her low drop tank, her fire red hair pulled up into two tiny buns on each side of her head, an homage to the way Yuri used to wear his. He missed his baby buns. 

“Why are you tearing up brand new tights?” She asked him, crossing her toned arms. She really had been hitting the gym a lot. 

“Oh, you’re still new to this,” he laughed lightly, making himself look as disheveled as possible.

She eyed him suspiciously, “You have something up your sleeve, don’t you?” 

Yuri just bit into his bottom lip and  started to walk away.

“Yuri!” Mila called out after him, “I promised Holly you would behave!” 

He threw a grin over his shoulder at her just before he slipped backstage, “That was your first mistake.” 

As he disappeared, Mila sighed but shook her head fondly as she hopped onstage. It was never easy to tell what Yuri Plisetsky was going to do next, that was just the nature of an entertainer. 

  
  
  
  


Yuri stumbled into the room that had been set up for the interview, almost falling down in the doorway as he went. He had a half-filled bottle of vodka in one hand and the sunglasses he wore inside were askew, adding to his overall drunken demeanor. 

“Hey babe,” he slurred out, falling onto the sofa next to Otabek where he sat. Yuri put one of his legs across Otabek’s lap and the other on the coffee table’s edge so that his long legs were obscenely spread in his mini skirt. He took a swig from his bottle and leaned back lazily, looking over at the stunned editor sitting on the sofa across from them. 

It was clear that this guy hadn’t touched an interview in months, maybe a year. To climb the ranks he’d surely been able to do it once, but the man sitting across from them was timid with an oversized, frumpy sweater on that was the color of oatmeal. He had a slim face but his eyes were comically wide at Yuri’s behavior, the glasses he wore doing nothing to hide his surprise. 

For his part Otabek sat neutrally, seemingly unfazed by the disturbance. Yuri doubted a word had been spoken as of yet. Good, he liked control when he could get it. No one knew that better than Otabek. Of course, the whole intimacy thing they had going on made it really hard to pull a fast one. Otabek knew what he was up to, no sleeves required. 

“Sorry I’m late, I just woke up and it’s hell to get a hit around here because, well,” Yuri managed to get out in sloppy mumbles to the interviewer, and then motioned over at Otabek like he was disgruntled, but was still all over him. He went on to describe his apparent woes about getting high in Russian, but it had been so long he wasn’t sure it was a grammatically sound sentence but that only added to the effect, surely. 

He took a swig from the vodka bottle, wincing and whining like it was sending fire down his throat. He slammed the bottle down on the table and pulled a matchbox from his pocket. He struck a match and held the tiny flame above the bottle’s lip, and that was when the interviewer finally spoke up. 

“Um, that’s dangerous, maybe you shouldn’t,” he said in an unconcealed panic, almost reaching out to stop Yuri. 

Only he didn’t, and Yuri let the match fall. It landed into the clear liquid, and instead of blue flames rising to lick the inside of the bottle, the match fizzled out in a pathetic wisp of grey smoke. 

It had been water in the bottle.

“I have to say,” Yuri said, his voice suddenly un-hazed and clear, “it would have made a great story.” 

He took off the sunglasses to reveal clear, sober eyes and took his legs off of Otabek to set them on the floor, and he sat up straight, throwing the sunglasses forward. They landed on the table with a clink against the glass bottle. 

“Guess you’ll have to come up with something a bit more original.” 

Otabek looked over at him, and then they both turned their heads to the camera to the side of them that had just captured all of that for an  _ Eros Online Exclusive _ . 

Yuri winked at the lens. 

Somehow, Yuuri katsuki regained his composure and jump started the interview, but it was clear he was crossing out questions he’d planned to ask as they went along.

Yuri did most of the talking, with Otabek only injecting small but careful comments when it came to the release of the album, their upcoming music video, and the like. Yuri went around details of their personal lives like the hem of a skirt. 

There was only one bite Otabek couldn’t resist taking. 

“For such an electric stage presence, it’s a surprise that you are so soft-spoken and quiet off stage,” Katsuki adjusted his perfectly-placed glasses nervously, “and from fans who have been following the original band for a long time, that seems to be more of a recent development.”

It was clearly a jab, from the “original” band comment to the “recent development”. There were certain words the interviewer seemed to be avoiding at all costs, afraid to pull the trigger. 

Yuri was ready to pounce and tell Katsuki exactly where he could stick his recent development, but Otabek reached for his hand. Yuri softened as he looked over at him, and with just the power of his gaze he gave Otabek the strength to be simply honest. 

“I can assure you, I was a very social addict.” 

It was all that needed to be said, and it was the perfect segway into a lighter conversation about life on tour. Yuri didn’t miss the silent beat of reverence between them, though. Maybe Katsuki understood them a bit more than he could let on. 

They were wrapping things up when Victor knocked politely and someone from  _ Eros _ told him they were almost done. As they said their thanks and goodbyes to Yuuri Katsuki, Yuri couldn’t help but to notice that Victor was transfixed, and it wasn’t by Otabek’s glowing complexion and ease of walk. He watched in amusement as Victor talked to his patient for all of thirty seconds before going over to introduce himself. 

“What’s the story there going to be?” Yuri murmured as Otabek slipped an arm over his shoulder, walking with him out of the room. They briefly looked back, and Yuri laughed lightly at the eagerness Victor couldn’t contain. 

“I don’t know yet,” Otabek smirked. “But I like our story better.”

  
  
  


“How are you feeling tonight, New Orleans?” Otabek asked the crowd as he walked out onstage with his acoustic. The collective wave of arms in the air went into high tide, screamed their responses. Yuri softened as he watched him cross the stage, bending to pick up some of the roses that had been thrown during the solo Yuri had just finished. It had been a welcome surprise, the first time he’d seen someone extending a rose to him when he was close enough to touch the crowd. 

Yuri was wearing Otabek’s old jacket and the sleeves hid how his hands shook. For the first time in months, he was nervous. It was during a quick change just fifteen minutes before that Otabek told him they were going to play  _ Broken Glass _ for the first time live. During the encore, they usually played a love song, but not that night. Yuri didn’t have time to protest or ask why, he just put his holey jeans on and went on with the show. 

Now they were alone in the spotlight, with only Sara behind them at her keyboard. There were two stools at the center of the stage, and Yuri sat on the right and tried not to crumble under the blinding lights. 

His heart was pounding, but then Otabek was offering him some of the roses he’d gathered, and he was back down again. He took them, gently affixing the blooms to his mic stand, which was already wrapped in a ripped up pair of red fishnets that had been thrown onstage back on the west coast. 

He sat down on the stool to the left, started to strum quietly as he spoke.    
  
“This is usually the part of the night where I wax poetic about getting to sleep with the hottest singer in Almaty’s Fire,” Otabek started lightly, looked over to Yuri with a grin. “He sings along out of pity.”

The crowd gave a scattered laugh and Yuri just shook his head lightly. 

Otabek looked back down at the mic, “But tonight, in this beautiful city, I wanted to play one song off our album that we haven’t played live. We wrote this song together when I was getting clean, and it was the hardest track on the album to record.” 

The crowd had gone so quiet, only the soft strum of Otabek’s guitar and his voice filled the venue. 

“One of the things i’ve learned in the past few months is that once something is broken, once the mirror is shattered, it never quite looks the same. But you can rebuild, put the good pieces back together until you can see your reflection again. It never looks the same, but sometimes it’s even more beautiful in the mending.” 

He looked at Yuri again, and his eyes were glassy. Yuri knew he didn’t want anything else then, he didn’t want anything but to be beside him for the rest of their lives. 

“Of course you already know that, New Orleans,” Otabek smiled lightly, letting his eyes fall back down. “Anyway, this is  _ Broken Glass _ .”

When the cassette tape recording starts to play overhead, Yuri closed his eyes and listened to them. It was such a short time ago, but it felt so far from where they were now. The terrifying thing was that there was no guarantee that things would never be that dark again. That’s just how life was. 

But as Yuri opened his eyes to sing back to Otabek, he saw that the crowd had turned on their cell phone lights and that there was a sea of artificial starlight and roses in front of them.

Even in the darkness, there would always be light. 

  
  
  
  


When they got back to the hotel after the show, Yuri could tell that Otabek had something on his mind. He always did, but sometimes it was harder for Yuri to read so he had to ask for a translation. They lay on top of the covers of the bed that was still theirs for the night. The balcony doors had screens on them, so they left them open to hold back all the pesky mosquitos but to let in the sweet smell of jasmine and azaleas. 

“Why tonight?” Yuri asked him point blank, no need to skirt around it. 

There wasn’t any reason for Otabek not to do the same, “Isabella contacted me this morning. She apologized again for what went down at the album launch, but then,” 

He paused, and Yuri traced the arch of his brow, the cut of his jaw. Smoothing out the edges calmed him.

“She told me that Jean was arrested overseas for dealing to some friends after a gig.” 

Well, he’d thought they were friends. Probably not once they cuffed him but Yuri didn’t bring that up. 

“Is he doing time for it?” Yuri asked softly. 

“Of course not,” Otabek sighed, “but he’s being shipped back stateside to complete a mandatory stay in good old Malibu, so it depends on what you mean by time.”

Yuri tensed at that, “You act like it’s a jail sentence. You made the choice to go.” 

Otabek looked at him for a long time, and when he spoke again his voice was concrete. 

“Yes, I did. I made a choice because my brother didn’t want to plan my funeral. I made a choice because I didn’t want to watch the people I love slip away from me. It was on my time, and apart from that first night with you, it was the best decision i’ve ever made.” 

Yuri flinched, averted his eyes. He wished it didn’t hurt, hearing that the best decision Otabek ever made after being with him was to leave him. Logically, he knew they’d needed it. In his heart, he knew they were stronger now. But there was still a child inside of him that beat wildly at his ribs, screaming and begging anyone to stay and love him above everything else, the way a child understood love to be. 

“I know that stings,” Otabek said, softened, “but if I hadn’t made that choice, you might be sleeping in this bed alone.”

“Don’t,” Yuri whispered, tears stinging at his eyes. He couldn’t even let the thought linger in his mind. 

Otabek kissed his temple and continued, “What I’m saying is that I had time to feel guilty and start to process what I had done, and I made a conscious decision. JJ - Jean - he didn’t get that choice. It’s going to be a hell of a lot harder for him because he’s still under the impression that he had everything under control.”

Yuri burned up, his own edges rising to the surface, “Don’t feel sorry for him, Otya. He was horrible to you, he tried to get you to relapse. You shouldn’t feel sorry for him, he deserved to go to jail for what he did.” 

As soon as it was out, Yuri knew it was wrong and he could feel a peach pit drop into his stomach. Before he could reach out and hold on to him, Otabek was up and across the room, closing the screened door to the balcony behind him. 

Yuri sighed and lay there in the dark blue. 

He gave him a few minutes, maybe seven, maybe less. He opened the door carefully, watching over his shoulder as Otabek faced away from him, his elbows on the balcony railing as he watched the life so close to them. There was still music, a distant saxophone playing a mourning song. Yuri walked up behind him, wrapped his arms around and pressed his forehead against the base of the lotus on his neck. 

“I’m sorry,” Yuri murmured. He stayed silent until Yuri went to stand beside him and leaned on the balcony too. 

“You love me and you forgive me, but for him it’s different? I know you see me differently because of what we mean to each other, but there is nothing different about him and I. A few months back, it could have easily been me getting those charges. And if I didn’t know I had a problem and they tried to take me away from you? It would have killed me. Hell, even when I knew, it was the hardest thing I had to do.” 

Otabek sighed again and looked up at the sky, “If I knew how to pray, if I knew it did anything, I would pray for him.” 

Yuri touched his hand until it turned over, interlacing their fingers, “I think playing that song tonight was a good start.” 

Otabek looked at him, smiled lightly. 

“Your life is different now. His life will be too, if he wants it to be. Maybe one day you can be in the same place. Until then, you have work to do. So don’t feel guilty that you have a stage to stand on, don’t worry about if you deserve it or not compared to anyone else, that’s a never ending circle. You worked for it, and you can help people by putting what you’ve been through into words they can relate to. So you get on  _ our  _ stage, and you do what you need to do.” 

The kiss was a surprise, but the drunken whoop from the street when Otabek picked him up was not so much of one. In a city like New Orleans it wasn’t even a show, but they laughed and quickly went inside. 

They laid together again, but it was their last night in a bed before they had to go back on the bus for a few weeks, so the conversation didn’t go on much further. 

  
  
  


In the morning, Yuri woke up to find that Otabek was watching. Mornings were sacred, and the mourning song was finished outside. 

Yuri curved his lip, hummed softly as Otabek’s fingers played on his skin. 

“What’s the new song called?” He asked. 

He ran his thumb over the back of Otabek’s hand. 

“I don’t know yet, I’m still learning it.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter fourteen is coming a lot sooner than you may expect. . . 
> 
>  
> 
> ;)


	14. Song to say goodbye

They were set to leave New Orleans by no later than noon, but the Altins were late. 

“Where are those little punks?” Yakov was grumbling from his seat. He liked to run a tight tour bus, and his schedule was off. Yuri ignored him from the sofa with his journal in his lap. Sometimes it was easier to sketch lyrics out before putting them into words. Whatever the song he was working on would end up being, it was going to involve a sea town if the images were anything to go by. 

Jarrod entered the kitchenette, taking a bottle of water out from the fridge. He sat down on the opposite end of the sofa from Yuri. 

“I really respect what you two are doing, by the way,” he lead with, because Jarrod always just continued the last conversation he’d had with someone. He also didn’t believe in small talk. It had been almost a year since they’d been backstage at a local gig and Jarrod had started a conversation by saying he didn’t think Holly really loved him. He couldn’t have known then that he was both right and wrong. 

“What, sex off of drugs?” Yuri murmured, “it goes way longer now, who would have thought, right?” 

Yuri peered up from his journal and chuckled at Jarrod’s unamused expression. He had to make an effort to look unhappy with that hair. Yuri had thought that when Holly went back to her natural color, maybe the pink would be over for Jarrod, but it was still digestion problem pill pink. Unlike for her, the hair was really a part of him. 

“Thanks for sharing, but no. I meant the songs, and talking about it to the crowd. Even when he was going to Malibu, if you would have told me that he would admit to hundreds of people while he was onstage that he’s clean and what that’s been like, I would have called you a liar. Especially you.” 

Yuri’s eyebrows knitted and his pencil stopped moving. 

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” he laughed and shook his head. “Up until recently, you’ve been his biggest enabler and made every excuse in the book for him. I think when you love someone, that shit just happens. But you’ve been a good support to him. I meant it when I said you guys are cute now.” 

Yuri didn’t want to admit that it was hard, that sometimes it hurt to remember things and he didn’t know if he could ever really understand what Otabek was feeling. Their conversation about JJ had proved that they had different perspectives now. It was hard in the little things, like thinking about where Otabek was and why he was late to get onto the bus. It was hard to push the thought away that whenever Otabek wasn’t with him, he was hiding something again. He knew it wasn’t true and there was a perfectly fine explanation, but still. If Jarrod thought it looked easy, so be it. 

“It is really good now though,” he said softly, a reminder to Jarrod and to himself to anchor him, “it’s nice to feel like we’re going somewhere together. If we had kept going like we were, I don’t know if we would be here.” 

Jarrod nodded, looking around reflectively at the tour bus. For a rich kid, it probably looked like something his moms bought just to take him “glamping” a grand total of two times. Maybe they’d gone camping with Drew’s family. Yuri tried to picture them, happy and together and of the same blood. Otabek had that too, a long time ago. Yuri never did, but now he had something like it. A band family was still a family, after all they’d been through. 

“Yeah,” Jarrod said earnestly, because he didn’t know how to be anything else, “I’m glad we all made it here.” 

Yuri gave him a small smile, nodding in agreement. 

Done with their bonding moment for the next few weeks, Jarrod pulled out his phone. Yuri watched in amusement and waited a few beats to make a snarky comment. 

“So you got bored with your left hand and decided it was time to start swiping right?” 

The middle finger Jarrod shot him without looking up was so smooth and easy that Yuri almost shed a tear of pride. His influence was spreading. 

  
  
  
  


Finally, the boys returned to the bus. First Serik, who looked a little mournful but still chatted with Yuri and Jarrod a bit before he grabbed a juice box and headed to the front to talk to Yakov, who insisted again and loudly that Serik stop calling him Mac. 

“Whatever you say Mac,” Serik laughed. 

Yuri didn’t look up when Otabek got on, but he didn’t need to. Still, he felt instantly relieved that he was back, and not in the same way Yakov was. With everyone on, they started traveling. They had one show in Florida of all forsaken places before they would head up to the east coast to play a show in New Jersey, and have their final show in New York the next night. A certain couple would be back from their non-wedded honeymoon trip by then and would be able to provide free room and board. 

Otabek said something to him about getting ready for bed, and Yuri just nodded absentmindedly and accepted the kiss planted on the crown of his head as he passed by. It was always best to try and sleep on the ride, the gentle hum of the road acting as the perfect white noise. 

Yuri thought he would go in a minute, too wrapped up in his sketches and writing to move from the small sofa. Jarrod went back to his own bunk, and Mila and Sara had been asleep since before the state line. Eventually, even Serik abandoned Mac and walked towards the bunks with a yawn. 

Finally, Yuri was satisfied and picked up his journal in its proper spot, then walked past the bunks to change in the bathroom. He assumed Otabek had just gone to bed, but when he got to the bathroom he saw that the curtain of the safe zone was closed. 

The Safe Zone was another of Victor’s seemingly ridiculous ideas, but he insisted they made one within the bus. Before, it was just a storage space but someone from their crew had gone in before tour and added a simple black curtain and some plush pillows and a soft rug inside of the little nook. It seemed stupid when Yuri first saw it, but as the weeks had gone by it had proven useful. Serik used it for prayer, and it was where Sara could always be found when she went missing, usually with a face mask on. Sometimes Mila called her sister and talked quietly in Russian, which always sounded bizarre to Yuri when he caught snippets of it. Yuri had even gone in there a few times whenever he just wanted to lay on the floor. It had been his idea to put in a little light projector, and when it was turned on a sky of stars filled the tiny, dark nook. 

There was an unspoken and unbroken rule that if the curtain was closed, no one else went in. As Yuri passed the small space, he knew Otabek was in there. 

He had been a bit flippant about most of Victor’s ideas to help Otabek. The idea of a sober life coach in general sounded ridiculous to Yuri, but he wasn’t going to deny that it had made some kind of difference. He’d thought that meditation was just some new age crap that let people sit around and do nothing, but maybe there was more to it if it had helped so much. 

He pushed the thoughts aside and got ready for bed, then walked back to their bunk. He pulled the curtain back and paused, finding something silver glinting against his pillow. Silver, and tinges of red.

Taking it in his hands, he realized it was a long-chain necklace with a pendant on it, a design of instricate red against a black backdrop. He loved that Otabek thought of him enough to get little tokens like that. He put it on, admiring the way the pendant rested easily against his heart. 

“You found it,” Otabek murmured softly, and Yuri looked up to see him just stepping out of the safe zone. It took all of four steps for him to be standing in front of Yuri, and he smiled lightly and watched as Yuri ran his thumb over the top of the pendant, “do you like it?” 

“I love it,” Yuri answered genuinely, “but what is it?” 

Otabek smirked and ran his hand along the back of his neck, then slowly pulled forward a matching necklace that had been tucked into his t-shirt. It looked identical to Yuri’s, only his chain was gold to compliment him. 

Yuri smiled softly, but his thumb brushed against the back of the pendant and he felt something change, so he looked down to examine it. 

Clear as day, when he turned it over he could see the number seven engraved onto the back, sleek and elegant. That was how Yuri figured out the swirling red design in the dome shape.

“The rose?” He questioned softly as he looked up again. “The one I saved?” 

Otabek traced his cheek with his thumb, nodded. 

“I saved it, and for awhile I was thinking about what we could do with the preserved petals, but then I found this artisan here and I knew we would be here for a few days -“ 

Yuri kissed him, full and slow as he wrapped himself impossibly close, arms around his neck.

“I love you,” he said, but didn’t give Otabek the chance to say it back. They had about all of twenty seconds of that before the bus lurched at a red light that must have come a bit too quick, and they nuzzled against each other, laughing softly and bracing themselves against the edge of their bunk. Yuri thought he might burst into flames or die instantaneously, whichever happened first. Such high levels of happiness were dangerous to someone like him, a shock to the system. 

It wasn’t even that it was such a grand gesture, but because it was small and private and something that was for  _ them _ . 

They were onstage almost every night and everyone interpreted and assumed the meanings of their songs, and they were interviewed and photographed based on that lens. More and more each day, they belonged to the public eye. Moments like that, feeling the engraved number that was more than a number to them, were to be treasured because they would only  _ ever _ belong to them. 

“Psst,” Serik whispered harshly from his bunk, “congrats on whatever lovey dovey crap you two have going on, but I just had to say goodbye to my girlfriend at the airport and it sucked so can you guys maybe get a bunk?” 

Well, mostly for them. 

Yuri smiled against him and pushed himself away, climbed into the bunk first. Otabek followed, and for a while they lay in the dark, so closely packed in they could feel almost every inch of each other. He kept rubbing his thumb against the curved resin that held bits of the faded red of the luckiest rose, then over the seven engraved on the back. He listened to the highway whipping past them outside, and his favorite song against his ear. 

When he spoke again, he didn’t have to ask if Otabek was still awake. 

“What do you do when you meditate?”

Otabek stroked the blonde hair away from his temple, movements gentle. He answered simply.

“Breathe.”

Yuri almost laughed, “Just breathe?” 

Otabek shook his head, “it’s actually really difficult. Because naturally when you’re left alone with your own mind, things come up.” 

Yuri furrowed his brow, “So what, you just suppress your feelings?”

Another shake of disagreement, “No, the opposite really. It’s kind of like something will come up, and I’ll treat it like seeing an old friend. I’ll acknowledge it, maybe recognize the way it existed in my life, but then I’m free from it. Instead of carrying everything on my back, I can be apart from it. It makes it easier to work on, piece by piece. And Victor helps with that, in his way.” 

Yuri traced the line of Otabek’s chain against his collarbone, “So you mean you listen to about half of what he says and throw out all the bullshit?” 

Otabek smirked and kissed his forehead, but didn’t confirm. 

Yuri lay on his chest and pulled their blanket up to his chin. “Wake me up when we’re in hell.” 

“You mean Florida?” 

Yuri smirked and didn’t answer. He fell asleep with his fingers clasped around the pendant, his thumb running over the number engraved onto the back. 

  
  
  


Florida was uneventful, except for a nostalgic hookup in the bathroom of a diner. 

“Is this for old time’s sake?” Otabek smirked as he unzipped his jeans, Yuri’s leg hiked up high around his hip. 

“Please,” Yuri laughed it off, head resting back against the permanent marker graffiti on the stall wall. “what else are we supposed to do, go to fucking disney world?” 

It didn’t take long to get into it, panting breath filling the enclosed space. Yuri had one hand on the top of the door and one clutching the lapel of Otabek’s jacket, watching the way his chain moved as his hips did in a trance. 

After, they cleaned up at the sinks. Yuri ran impatient fingers through his hair. It was so humid that it had frizzed up at the the roots. 

“I don’t know what to do with it,” he lamented. “It’s your fault I chopped it.” 

Otabek kissed his pout until it vanished, “How is it my fault? I was four hundred miles away.” 

“Exactly,” Yuri mumbled. 

Otabek carefully re-applied Yuri’s lipstick and then kissed him chasetly. 

“It’ll grow back, Yura,” he said, rubbing in the bit of color that had passed on to his own lips. “and I’ll be around to hear you complain about it then, too.” 

Yuri stuck his tongue out and turned to leave, “C’mon, before the bus leaves us behind.” 

“You go ahead, I’ll be there in a minute.” 

Yuri went without thought, but as he checked the bus was still there and decided to get a snowball, he felt a peach pit in his stomach. He remembered all of the times he’d been left on the other side of a door because Otabek didn’t want him to know how often he needed a hit. Of course, he knew. He knew most of the time, anyway. 

He tried to do what Otabek said he did, when negative thoughts came up. He acknowledged the guilt he felt, the worry. He told himself he trusted Otabek and that nothing was happening. 

Then he told his reassurance to fuck off and went back to the men’s room, swinging the door open with a little too much conviction. 

Otabek peered back at him from where he stood in front of the urinal, half confused and still half happy-sated. 

“Can I help you?” He joked. 

It wasn’t like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. He wanted Otabek to know that if it did happen - and the statistics that Victor had told him still rattled around in his head even though he didn’t want them to - a relapse didn’t erase all the progress he had made. 

Still, he was glad that day was not the day he had to tell him that. 

“No,” Yuri bit back his smile, shaking his head, “I’m just really glad you’re peeing.” 

Otabek made a face at him and turned away, and Yuri told his inner voice it was stupid for worrying. 

  
  
  
  


Of course, it came up in therapy. 

“Yuri, try to be more aware of the thoughts that come to mind about Otabek in times that are not a prelude to sex. When your mind is clouded with lust, it is much easier to let things slide, but this is not healthy because you tend to bottle up your emotions. It is much better to address concerns in the moment, rather than become anxious due to your own assumptions. Or walk in on someone peeing.”

Otabek nodded slightly, but Yuri smirked at the computer screen in front of them. 

“We’re rock musicians on tour, everything we do is a prelude to sex,” he remarked, “and if I’m the one clouded by lust, why are you the one sitting on your boyfriend’s lap?” 

Onscreen, Victor blinked and looked behind him. Yuuri Katsuki poked his head into the frame, a flush in his cheeks as he adjusted his glasses and waved. 

“Good to see you two again,” he greeted shyly. 

Yuri rolled his eyes, “You’re just everywhere, aren’t you?” 

“Isn’t it a bit of a conflict of interest?” Otabek eyed the digital imagine of Katsuki suspiciously. They were on facetime, Victor and his new boyfriend back in his office in Malibu. 

“Oh, you didn’t hear from your brother? The scary one?” Victor laughed artificially. He could say just about anything with that big smile of his and make it sound charmed. “Let’s just say  _ my _ Yuuri’s been promoted to a higher position and the person who wrote the original article conveniently decided to leave  _ Eros _ .” 

Yuri narrowed his eyes, sifting through the information. 

“So what you really mean is that Erzhan bought out the company?” 

Katsuki laughed nervously, rubbing his neck, “Not publicly.” 

Otabek smirked pridefully, and Yuri elbowed his side lightly, but he was biting back a grin too. 

They talked for another ten minutes or so and then Yuri time was over, so both of them left their respective boyfriends to talk. 

“Alright, down to business,” Otabek said as Yuri walked away. He smiled softly, watching from behind a curtain for a minute. For all of their joking and casual conversation, it was nice to see Otabek and Victor slip back into their intended roles. There was a mountain that Otabek had to climb for the rest of his life, and no matter how much he wanted to, Yuri wasn’t equipped to carry him to the top. 

Still, he was glad Otabek had so many people to support him while he carried himself. 

  
  
  


Later, he asked Otabek if it was true, if Erzhan was really that dedicated to keeping a steady control over their imagine. No one had ever cared so much about their career, least of all Yuri. It was fun to make Erzhan’s job hard. 

“What’s he going to do, buy out every company that runs a bad article on us?” Yuri laughed as Otabek carried him on his back to the bus. “How long will that work, it’s not like he can buy out  _ Rolling Stones _ .” 

Otabek chuckled, “Don’t give him the idea, just in case.”

  
  
  
  


“I can’t believe we’re playing the rosemont,” Yuri muttered as he looked out the window.

“Yeah,” Serik added from his place beside him on the sofa. “Isn’t this around where you and Holly used to hang out?”

Yuri smiled slightly, nodded. “The rosemont is where I first saw Otabek y’know.”

Serik smirked, his expression lighting up because hearing about his brother’s life before he was back in it was rare, “Really? When?” 

“I think it was when he was still with Tony, a really long time ago. Before there even was an Almaty’s Fire. They sucked, honestly. Especially Jarrod.”  

They both looked over to the man in question, but he had his headphones on from where he sat at the kitchenette table. 

“Yeah, all of them except for Otabek.” 

Serik rolled his eyes, “You’re just saying that because you wanted to be with him, even back then.” 

Yuri shrugged, “Maybe so.” 

Serik laughed, pushing his shoulder playfully and throwing a skittle at him. Yuri caught it. 

“So how come you didn’t go up to him then? This story could have started, what, three years earlier?” 

Yuri’s smile faded just a bit, and he put the skittle in his mouth and looked back out the window. “Well I had a boyfriend at the time, I guess you could say.” 

Serik nodded, shaking out more of the candy into his palm and handing some to Yuri then. 

“So what, you didn’t want him getting jealous? Otya was probably a huge mess back then, before I came around.” 

Yuri shook his head, there was that Altin pride again. 

“No, not because he would have been jealous,” Yuri clarified softly. “He just wouldn’t have let me.”

Serik didn’t reply to that, but just stared out at the building and roads passing by as they made their way to the venue. There were so many things that Serik knew that Yuri would never have the patience to learn, but there were also things that Yuri knew that Serik would thankfully never experience. 

How could he tell Serik that if he’d talked to Otabek the night that he first saw him, that his boyfriend wouldn’t have been jealous, but furious? How would Serik ever understand that if Yuri had done that, there would have been hell to pay? Serik still lived in a world where love was always pure and logical, and Yuri wanted to protect that. 

He didn’t regret it, as he looked back out at old familiar streets. He’d held onto Otabek’s voice and his face for years before they met again, and then there was no need to hold back. He wouldn’t trade the night they met for anything. He would never forget that first kiss, a Nirvana song just starting in the background. 

For years, Otabek’s voice playing in his mind was Yuri’s only hope that there was a love out there that wouldn’t hurt him. 

At least not on purpose. 

  
  
  
  


The show at the Rosemont and their three year anniversary fell on the same day, and it all felt just a little bit ironic. Yuri had seen him there first, and they didn’t meet until three years later. Then three years after that, they were onstage together. It was insane. The crowd still reacted whenever they touched or kissed on stage, even if it was just a quick peck for luck. Yuri had joked once after a particularly involved kiss and a particularly wiled up audience that they all needed to get laid, but that only made them cheer louder, of course. 

They were in the red zone again - the week before the last show of the tour - but they were miles away from where they had been just months before. It was almost good, to have settled into a routine. They’d have ten weeks of tour done, but there was another marker that loomed. 

The first two months had been hell, but tour was a different beast entirely. Somehow, three more months had passed because of it. By the time they got home from New York, Otabek would be nearly six months sober. No one could really believe it, least of all Otabek. It didn’t help that everyone kept reminding him that this time when he went home, he wouldn’t have the distraction of the album or the tour. They had a bit of press to do and a music video, but other than that they were free for Autumn. Maybe they would record a duet album from the basement studio once they were done renovating. Maybe they would just record it from their bed, that seemed easier. 

After the show in Jersey, they fully expected to get a cab to Erzhan’s apartment while the bus went back to the hotel with the crew. They were still wiping off the stage sweat when Holly popped up in the group chat to say that there was free food waiting, and that was all a touring group needed to hear. 

“Guys, we have to go, Holly made sweet potatoes,” Jarrod said mid-strip. Serik already had his waves tied up in the tiniest little knot on the top of his head and was straddling the arm of the dressing room sofa, texting. 

“You shouldn’t be so excited to eat anything of your ex girlfriend’s,” he murmured to the bassist unknowingly, and Yuri had to physically bite his lip to refrain from adding a snarky comment. 

“Not a word,” Otabek warned, a finger pointing and his leather leggings in hand, not threatening in the slightest. He wasn’t doing such a great job of hiding his laughter either. 

Once they were dressed, they had an hour or so to hang out with the stragglers who hadn’t left the venue as soon as they’d unplugged. Yuri was talking, half amazed and half freaked out,  with someone who had driven from their tiny little town in the middle of nowhere to see them, when Mila pulled him away. She let him know there was a limo waiting out front and it was holding up traffic, not to mention there were paps. 

Yuri thought it was strange, but even stranger when he went out to the lobby with Otabek and realized the limo was waiting for them.

“He sent a limousine,” Otabek muttered, shaking his head, “What does he think this is, senior prom?”

“Are you really surprised your brother has a flair for the dramatics, in his own way?” Yuri replied, pulling him along out of the doors and into the path of flashing lights. There were no comments or brand deals that night, they just got in.

While everyone else was distracted by the novelty, Yuri whispered to Otabek. 

“So, do you think they fucked in here?” 

With no hesitation Otabek answered.

“Oh, yeah. Yes. One hundred percent.” 

  
  
  
  


Holly buzzed them in and was waiting at the entrance from the elevator. Yuri was instantly in her arms, affronted by a wave of French perfume that was actually from France and not the mall.

Still, she was Holly through and through. Her long, black hair was tied into a top knot (“we match!” she squealed at Serik), and she wore her worn striped overalls and a neon pink bandeau underneath, her small feet bare. Even without the blue hair, her color radiated from her very essence. They were already tired from the show, so it was a bit overwhelming until Erzhan stepped in. 

He was calm and cool in a light blue cashmere sweater and slim pants, and Yuri almost laughed to see he was wearing Holly’s socks, the ones with the little smiling tacos on them. 

“I would say she’s only like that after a few glasses of rosé, but we all know that’s not true.” 

Otabek was the first to walk over to him to perform that masculine brotherly hug. 

“You’ve been keeping your nose clean, right?” He teased, and Otabek pushed him away half-heartedly. Serik ran in for a group hug, and they indulged him. 

It was the first time they had seen the penthouse apartment so there was a lot to take in. Everything was clean and modern, but there were bits of Holly scattered throughout. There were at least ten vases of fresh flowers in different places and crystals lined along the window. There were bright, big blankets on the sofa, managing to make something that looked like concrete seem comfortable. Somehow, it all worked, as if Holly had been there for years. 

They sat on bar stools at a marble countertop while Erzhan doled out the servings, a soft jazz soundtrack playing in the background. After weeks of classic tour food that clogged just about everything, a simple home cooked meal was the ultimate luxury. There was no need to sit in front of the TV or in stiff dining chairs. They could all see each other and talk amongst themselves as they ate. According to movies he’d seen, it was like they were a typical American family. They had anecdotes to share with each other over good food. Erzhan and Holly talked about Paris and the yacht off the south of France, and their “small excursion” To Italy. The band practically fought each other to tell stories from the road. There was the time the bus almost left without Sara in the middle of Nebraska, or the time Jarrod could have caused a stage fire, and how horribly ironic it would have been. When New Orleans was brought up, Serik jumped right on it and talked about his girlfriend until people were leaving the table. 

Otabek and Yuri helped clean up until Holly insisted they go to bed. Maybe in another time, they would have protested, or at least used the access of a bed to their full advantage. It wasn’t even their anniversary anymore since midnight had come and gone, but still. 

Instead, Yuri was asleep within ten minutes of hitting the cool silk sheets. He could feel Otabek’s back against the palms of his hands as exhaustion pulled him under.

When he woke up, the other side of the bed was cold again. Yuri grumbled, rolling around in the silk and trying to force himself back to sleep. He didn’t want to need Otabek there, like he was some teddy bear that Yuri needed every night. It was just that being without Otabek for over a month and then going right into sleeping in the closest space possible had made him even more dependent on his warmth than normal. He slipped out of the bed with a wool throw blanket wrapped around him like a scandinavian cape and stalked off to find his heat source. 

At the end of the hall where the apartment went into the open concept living room, two high back armchairs faced towards the never fading lights of the city. There were two people talking in quiet, familiar voices. Yuri could see a glass of brandy in one hand, and even in an unfamiliar language it didn’t take long to piece together what they were saying. It was always about family. 

Otabek said something about their sister, and Erzhan cut him off quickly, interjecting with a defense for their parents. Whatever it was, it caused a long pause, and he took a long drink.

A moment later, in perfect English, he said in an even tone, “Yuri, if you’re going to eavesdrop i’d rather you sit with us.” 

Guiltily he crossed the pathway and went over to where the chairs were set in front of a large bookshelf. Otabek looked up at him, eyes weary. 

“Come sit,” he murmured, and Yuri was able to fit into the space that Otabek didn’t occupy. He shared the blanket. 

“What’s going on?”

Otabek sighed and rubbed at his temples, and Erzhan set his glass down on a side table, abandoning the last sip. 

“Our parents feel that it would be best if Otabek is out of contact with our sister for a while,” Erzhan explained, “Their communication has been inconsistent at best, and it’s becoming confusing. Besides, they’ve seen some,” he paused, formulating the most professional way of putting it, “material. . . online. According to their communication with me, they feel as though there needs to be some distance.” 

“Some distance?” Yuri scoffed, “he’s already in a different country, how much more distant do they want?” 

Erzhan formulated his careful response, “They just don’t feel Isha should be exposed to a certain lifestyle.” 

Yuri’s stomach sank, “A certain lifestyle? Is this about me? Because if they think I stole his virtue or corrupted him or something, that’s really fucking rich.” 

“No Yura,” Otabek brushed his thumb against his arm, “but it’s reasonable, our songs and our stage presence are not what anyone would call kid friendly. But it’s not about you, it’s about me. I’ve had false starts before, why should they think this time is any different?” 

Yuri stared at him in shock, “Why? Because everything is different this time, I can see it in you, everyone can.”

“But not them,” Erzhan supplied. 

“So their solution is to cut off contact? What does that solve? Don’t they care anymore?” 

Yuri was near frantic, the heat of tears rising up that he refused to let fall. It was just all so wrong, it wasn’t how family was supposed to work. Family was supposed to be forever. It didn’t just stop and go the other way, especially when things were getting better. Even though they said it wasn’t his fault, Yuri couldn’t help but feel responsible in some way for the drift. He should have made Otabek call more often, he should have asked to go for a visit. There were a million things he should have done. 

“Of course they still care,” Erzhan replied, “but you should understand that there’s a lot to how they feel. In a way, they’ve lost three of their children to this country. It’s one thing to work here and visit, but now we all have ties that bind us here. The traditions and the culture they worked so hard to instill in us as children, what have we done with them?”

Otabek had no good reply, and maybe the answer was that there was none. 

“It’s not forever,” Erzhan said as he stood and picked up his glass, “time has a way of bringing together forces that are meant to be so. Of course, you two already know that.” 

  
  
  


They went back to bed only to wake up again with the sunrise, turning on their sides to make lazy love as the yellow light seeped into the room. Otabek didn’t want to talk about the discussion from the past night, he didn’t want to talk at all. 

It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right, but Yuri knew there was nothing he could do but support Otabek. If anything, it was Otabek who reassured himself. They were standing at the mirror and brushing their teeth, and Otabek mumbled quietly, “They’ll come around after about a year. I just have to make it through another year.” 

Yuri wrapped his arms around Otabek and pressed against his chest, as if he could act as a shield. He had once heard Otabek talking with Victor, and he’d said that sometimes just one day clean felt like a year. 

The best that he could do was take it one day at a time. No matter what, Yuri would be beside him. 

  
  
  
  


It was the final show, and they were awash in red lights. Yuri was standing next to Serik, waiting for their cue to go in. Music could feel like that sometimes, a static silence until one force collided with another and put everything into motion. 

In perfect synchronicity, they brought their sticks down to hit the water. 

With enough force and the right lighting, water could turn to embers. 

Bursts of water rose up from the surfaces of their drums as they played side by side, first together and then battling off of each other’s beat. It was hard not to smile, because it was the last show but it was also the most fun he’d ever had on stage. It was something that he and Serik would always share, the need to pour all of their energy into booming sound and to be sonically bigger than their bodies. 

They were all out to impress though, a sense of it being the final show of that tour driving them all to give the highest energy performance they could manage. When it was over and the lights went out and everyone that was singing along went home, they would always have that. 

Drumming with Serik couldn’t even come close to singing with Otabek, though. There was something about it, the way they danced around and dipped into the words they wrote together, their voices interlocked in harmony. 

There was something expository about performing live, too. It was like everyone in the crowd could touch their veins and feel everything that had rushed past. As Yuri strut across the stage with his mic in hand and felt the spotlight hit him for what must have been the hundredth time, he knew he was going to remember it as the first time in later years. This tour had popped his spotlight cherry, and it never really would feel like the first time again. 

They were well into  _ Backseat Mattress,  _ and Otabek was in the middle of his guitar solo. He looked over and saw that Yuri was walking towards him, so he only did what was natural. 

He dropped to his knees. 

Yuri smirked and didn’t miss a beat. He kept singing, tracing his finger along Otabek’s jaw and bending down until they were almost face to face, close enough to kiss. He waited until there was a pause just before the beat dropped again, then turned on his heels and walked the other way, leaving Otabek and everyone who had been intently watching them wanting more. A point for him, but surely Otabek would find a way to get him back later. 

  
  
  


It was bittersweet to wave goodbye to the crowd for the last time that tour. He had one hand waving, and the other intertwined with Otabek’s. He thought about how many times he would get to see a view of the crowd in his lifetime. He wondered if the feeling would ever go away, the electricity. He hoped it never would, and he could keep the promises he’d made to Otabek. Where he stood, he didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to do anything but be there, onstage with him, for the rest of his life. 

That was the first time that night that he knew. He could feel it when he looked over at Otabek as they walked away from the spotlight. They could set a stage on fire together (metaphorically, no thanks to Jarrod), but they had learned how to step away from it. He could see it in Otabek’s eyes, the embers they carried. If it was love or music or simply magic, whatever it was, he still had it. He’d had it from the first night they’d met, even if Yuri was sometimes the only one who could see it. 

When they got to the dressing room Yuri was in a rush to change, but Otabek took him by the shoulders and made him pause. He led him over to mirror, made him look. 

For the first time, he could see that same magic in himself, in his own eyes looking back at him. That was the second time that night that he knew, and when his eyes moved to find Otabek’s in the reflection, he could feel the reassurance wash over him. Otabek kissed his cheek like they’d been on pause and he’d just hit play, and it was back to business. Still, Yuri smiled to himself as he stripped out of his stage clothes, because he  _ knew _ .

The third time he knew was when they went out the back door where the fans were waiting, and he seemed genuinely surprised that people were excited to see him. 

The fourth time was when they ditched the limo and caught a taxi, just so that they could see the view of the city at night the way it was meant to be seen. 

When they got back to Holly and Erzhan’s place for the after party, it was already a chaotic mess of color and noise. Give Holly an inch, she’d eat the whole damn cake (there was cake, too, with their album cover on it in frosting). 

They lost each other for half a playlist, each being pulled into separate spaces. Yuri was dancing like no one was watching when he was found again. Arms wrapped around him, a voice murmured in his ear.    


“We should get out of here, angel.” 

Sneaking out of their own after tour party was the fifth time he knew, and it made his heart jump as they weaved through the crowd, ducking out of Holly’s sight.

They walked along the streets of New York like they knew where they were going, and maybe that was the point. The city treated them well enough, they felt right at home with every other creature that wandered the streets in the middle of the night, human or otherwise. They stopped to get two slices of Pizza, folding them in half and eating them while they walked.

Somehow, they wound up in the perfect spot. It was almost like Otabek had planned it or something.

The neon lights of Lucky Sevens Tattoo glowed bright yellow and red, an arrow pointing down to the stairs that led to the basement level studio. Yuri smiled as he swayed slightly in the arms of the one that would hold him forever. The sixth time, and he wasn’t even scared of what was to come.

“I called Armand back at the apartment,” he said softly, brushing Yuri’s hair back as the lights filtered them with a saturated glow, “Apparently he has a buddy who owns this shop, isn’t that crazy?” 

“So crazy,” Yuri murmured. He couldn’t stop looking at Otabek’s lips, couldn’t stop fucking smiling. He was breaking local law with how much he was showing his teeth. 

They were face to face on the first step of the stairs, and all of a sudden Otabek was nervous. It was adorable. 

“Hey, before we go in, I wanted to talk to you,” he started, running his finger along Yuri’s rose pendant to keep himself steady, “I wanted to ask you something. The most important thing I’ve ever asked you.” 

Yuri bit his lip, toes curling in his boots, “more important than asking me to join the band?” 

Otabek pondered it for a moment as he toyed with a smile, “it’s a close tie.” 

“I already know,” Yuri murmured, “so just ask me.” 

Otabek smirked, because of course he did. They might as well be able to read the other’s mind. 

“Don’t steal my thunder now, tiger, I had a whole speech planned.” 

Yuri took Otabek’s left hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss between his knuckles. Then he lifted his head, cueing him to go on. 

“I know we said we were waiting for platinum, but I don’t want to wait for other people buying a piece of us to tell us what we can be. I don’t want to only share a stage with you, I want to share every new day of my life with you. I want to give back everything you’ve given to me. We’ve already been through better and worse, and I just want to be on the other side with you, angel.” 

Both of their eyes were wide and hopeful and brimmed with tears and when Yuri overflowed, Otabek wiped the tears away. It was crazy and wonderful and a little bit magic. 

They kissed because they couldn’t contain it, their wild hearts beating to escape their chests.

“Marry me,” Otabek whispered against his lips, his breath shaking, “please.” 

Yuri pressed their foreheads together gently, eyes closed and soaking it in. He wanted to remember it forever, how the universe had shifted again. 

It was the seventh time he knew that night that he would ask, and Yuri’s answer ran up to the shore to meet him. 

“Yes,” he whispered back, repeating it like a mantra, “yes, yes, yes. I will. I do.”   
  
One breath from Otabek, and Yuri could feel weight slipping from underneath his fingertips where they rested on his shoulders. 

They kissed again, pouring into each other, fingers curling into his blonde hair the way that rose petals did when they bloomed.

Yuri swore he could hear it, the heart song. It was just a soft strum, half a heartbeat, half a memory. 

_ One baby to another says I’m lucky to have met you. . . _

  
  
  
  
  


“Should I get down on one knee?” Otabek asked when the rush had passed, the wave receded. They were still standing on the top stair, in awe of each other. He went to kneel, and Yuri stopped him, laughing lightly. 

“Not here,” he scrunched his nose up, going up on the toes of his boots to wrap his arms around Otabek’s neck, “and I already said yes.”

“Say it again.” 

Yuri grinned and leaned in to whisper it on his lips, but they were interrupted. 

“Oh c’mon,” they looked up to see a man watching them, holding on to a leash that held a french bulldog, also watching. “You can’t just propose without a ring.”

“Oh, he doesn’t have a ring,” Yuri laughed awkwardly in surprise. He looked at Otabek, who shook his head to confirm he didn’t have one. “It’s not really our thing.” 

“Two dudes getting married, without any rings?” The man said as he tutted and shook his head in disappointment, but there was a mischievous grin to him, “so unnatural.” 

Then he held up his own left hand, a small gold band shimmering under the neon. 

“Twenty five years and three on paper,” he explained, a soft smile on his face. He started to walk away contentedly, calling over his shoulder to them, “good luck you two, though it doesn’t look like you’ll need it.” 

Otabek smiled so radiantly, and Yuri only caught a glimpse of it before he his in his shoulder. 

When he resurfaced, the embers glowed in his eyes as bright as the lights around them. 

“I can think of something a little more  _ us _ than a pair of rings, are you up for it?” 

Yuri was already pulling him down the stairway, leading by hand. 

“What are you waiting for,” he laughed, jumping down the steps. “Isn’t this how it starts?” 

“What?” Otabek asked, trailing safely behind him, their outstretched hands still linked. 

They met on the landing, and Yuri smiled up at him. 

He answered, “the rest of our lives.” 

One more kiss for luck, and they stepped inside together, the bells tied to the door above them ringing out.    
  
  
  
  
  
  


In the morning they decided to take the bus to the airport instead of the limo, as if anyone except Erzhan would propose such a thing. 

Their goodbyes were heartfelt but brief, because they knew they would see him soon. They left so that Holly could have her privacy to say goodbye to him and the home she had made there for him. Holly never really had a single home, because it seemed like she lived everywhere at once. 

Yuri felt the most at home when he stepped onto the bus with them and the rest of the band was already there. They lounged around on sofas and at the kitchenette table, waiting for Yakov to transport them. They were all tired, but in the good way that happened after a long stay on the road. Music played softly on the radio, and Yuri was in Otabek’s arms. They were curled up on the sofa together with not an inch between them, and Yuri leaned back on his chest. To anyone observing how they were arranged, it was impossible to tell who was protecting who. Wasn’t that part of the deal, to have and to hold? 

Serik was painting Sara’s nails as they talked, and Mila participated by teasing Serik about Drew until he was peach pink. Jarrod sat on the floor with just his blue jeans on and Otabek’s guitar in his lap. He was the first one who had started talking about a second album. Even Holly was comfortable, sitting on the other end of the sofa with Yuri’s feet on her lap.

“Is this the part where  _ Tiny Dancer _ comes on and we all slowly start to sing along?” she joked. 

Otabek smirked, turning his head to plant a kiss in Yuri’s hair. 

Then a soft, familiar beat started. It was so ingrained within all of them after so many nights playing it that Otabek began to tap his fingers along Yuri’s arm to the beat without even realizing that it was  _ their song _ on the radio. 

“Hey Mac, turn it up,” Serik called to Yakov, who begrudgingly ignored the name but did raise the volume so that the sound poured through the bus speakers, and Yuri got to watch the moment Otabek realized. 

A slow smile formed, and he looked down at Yuri with something that was different than his pride. It was pure and sincere gratitude. He hadn’t been around last time to hear their song, but now he would always be with Yuri, permanent and true. 

“Umm, guys,” Holly said, scrolling on her phone frantically to find numbers, “that’s the pop radio, not the rock. This song hit the popular charts.” 

Everyone around them started to freak out with excitement, but Otabek and Yuri could barely hear them. Otabek took Yuri’s left hand in his own, Yuri’s fingers long and delicate. On the ring finger there, a small mark of ink was fresh and red. It matched the one on Otabek’s own left hand perfectly. Just a slim, elegant number seven. 

No one had noticed them yet, it was still their secret. It wouldn’t be official until it was on the dotted line, cold paperwork they would each sign when they were home. They would tell Serik first then and only then, because they needed a witness. That part didn’t matter more than a formality. The ink on their skin was more binding than a piece of paper or two gold rings could ever be. 

Otabek kissed him there, eyes looking up at him. It was a promise between them, because the future was only a vague projection. What they had was then and there, and they had promised to say yes to each new day. Together, as it was always supposed to be. 

Yuri pulled him in, arms wrapped around his neck, and kissed him slow and sweet. 

Wherever they went, whatever they faced. No matter what. 

Their vows were simple, but it was a promise they would have to commit to, consciously, every day. 

On that day, they both said yes. 

  
  
  
  
  


At home, they collapse onto their bed, bags abandoned in the doorway. They breathed in the familiar scent that lingered in the house, the smell of them that was threaded into their sheets. Warm and safe and home, Otabek’s arms wrapped around him. They had about three days before they would be well rested and restless. That was when they would start playing again, recording in the basement. They’d started thinking about it, dreaming about it, on the plane home. Rock hadn’t seen too many duet albums, much less a duet album of  _ husbands. _ It was Otabek’s new favorite word to whisper in his ear when they were alone, and Yuri had to admit that it was growing on him faster than he had thought. He’d already started sketching concepts for the cover art, little symbols of them woven into an intricate design, a quilt of their life. 

It was still a secret, but once it was out (and it would be so the moment they asked Serik to be their best man and witness, along with some young tears), they knew Erzhan would try to give them some stupid and extravagant wedding present, so at least they’d get something practical out of it in the form of a home studio, some new guitars. And maybe a cool honeymoon. 

“So it’s over,” Otabek sighed, the gold chain he wore around his neck glimmering in the sunlight. 

“What, your stamina?” Yuri smirked, “it was fun while it lasted.” 

Otabek swatted his ass playfully, his hand landing to rest in the valley of his back. Yuri giggled, biting at the edge of the oversized sweater than went over his hands. 

“I meant the album and the tour,” he murmured, “I spent my whole life dreaming of the day I would be here, wishing and hoping on every lucky thing, and it’s already done.” 

He paused to look up into green eyes, and what used to be vulnerable and fragile had grown intimate and unbreakable. 

“But I guess the best things don’t come down to luck alone.” 

It was true, though they were lucky to have each other, not everything was perfect. Yuri could see the secret hurt in him, he knew Otabek wished his whole family would be there to see them get married. There were people he wished they could help more, things they both wished were just a little bit easier. There were things that only time and work could fix, and they had time to go. They had a hell of a lot of work to do, but they already done so much. There was always going to be more; more brilliance, more passion, and more bitterness. That was the hand they’d been dealt. The love and the music they made from it was the only thing that could ever last. In time, everything would align. 

“Oh, you think that it’s over?” Yuri smirked as he crawled onto his lap, straddling him. Otabek’s lip curved as he looked up at him, watched as Yuri reached out to touch the chain around his neck, the gold framing the luckiest rose, held permanently in place to rest over his heart. Yuri admired the way he could see the number seven face up and staring back at him, forever on the ring finger of his left hand. Otabek let one hand rest on his thigh, and the other came up to brush against where Yuri was touching the necklace. He smiled lightly at the sight, their matching lucky sevens paired together. Time would wear them down, but they would never be apart. 

Yuri let his jade eyes flit up, shifting his shoulder so that the sweater fell down to reveal a peek of familiar and long-lost black lace. Otabek’s eyes sparked with recognition, and his grin curled into a knowing smirk. 

“I’d say we’re just getting started.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almaty's Fire: The Inferno World Tour, coming soon to a city near you. . .


End file.
